


in the bed where you lie

by 1lostone, lucife56



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (Negan is a dick), Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Because Angst., Blowjobs, Canonical Character Death, Did I Mention Angst?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, First Time, Frank and Awkward Discussions about Gay Sex, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, Judith is an excellent judge of character, Lost is an angstwhore, M/M, Michonne ships it, Non-Consensual Drug Use, PTSD, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rick and Michonne as bros, Rimming, S-L-O-W, Seriously these two are dumb, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Symptoms of PTSD, The Rick and Jessie stuff is so far off it's not even in this hemisphere yet, This is gonna hurt., but it will happen, i blame jlm for everything, omg I just put a tag about Judith inbetween two sex things I'm going to hell, pov switches each chapter, preslash, sex as an escape, symptoms and descriptions of panic attacks, who may or may not bump uglies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 174,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucife56/pseuds/lucife56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's mama once told him something that he never really appreciated while she was alive.  When stuff got bad, she'd look at him with that exhausted half-smile on her face and crouch down so that she was eye-level with his much shorter self. "Honey? At some point- something's gotta give. You just gotta be sure that when it does, you're strong enough to handle what happens next." </p><p>Smart lady, his mama.</p><p>After they lose Beth, the decision to keep surviving is hard.  It takes everything they've got to keep going. </p><p>And the funny thing was?  When Daryl faltered, Rick always seemed to be right there to pick him back up. </p><p> </p><p>This is a story of how far you have to fall before you can make it back up again, and of the people who make it all worthwhile.</p><p> </p><p>EDIT:  Lucife will be adding art to the fic, so be sure to subscribe so that you don't miss them!<br/>EDIT #2: JFC the typos. And the weird ass thing with italics... sorry. I'm going through and fixing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Pick me Apart (then pick up the pieces)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This **is** a Rickyl story, but it’s a very slow burn. These two are going to be moving at glacial speeds, despite what may or may not happen early in the fic. Be prepared for angst. (Jlm calls me an angst whore for a reason. I am not sorry.) Check the relationship tags so that nothing sneaks up on you. :) Most chapters are rated Explicit for canon-typical violence and language. This is a WIP, but I should be able to post at the very least every week or so. Title is from lyrics to a Beecake song, but this fic has nothing whatsoever to do with them- I was just listening to music when I wrote. I almost forgot, thanks to the crazy awesome people in the #Rickylwritersgroup who are crazy enough to put up with me.

He didn’t even have to think about the shot. It wasn’t quite a reflex, because he sure as fuck meant to do it, but later Daryl couldn’t remember any specific second where he told himself, ‘okay, shoot that bitch.’

He remembered certain things though.

He remembered how Beth’s lips had trembled when Rick had cupped the back of her head, and how watching the way he had drawn Beth forward to kiss her on the forehead right after the exchange, had made Daryl think of the way Rick kissed his own kids. Beth had smiled and obviously looked around for Maggie. Daryl had only gotten a quick second to welcome her back, a moment to think that everything was gonna work out, before the cop had spoken. Then everything went to shit.

He remembered that Noah had time for a frustrated sigh before he’d offered himself as a hostage to the cop’s demand.

Fuckin’ _cops_.

Merle had always told him never to trust a damn cop. Daryl couldn’t always equate the fact that Rick- who he trusted absolutely more than any damn single person on this Earth- was of the same cloth as this Officer Dawn, or whatever the hell her name was.

Merle had been right in this case, and Noah’s little sigh of frustration only seemed to prove to Daryl that he’d known that something like this was gonna go down.

He remembered how Rick had flinched back in shock at the warm spray of Beth’s blood when it had rained down from the gunshot wound to the head.

He remembered how his gun had just appeared in his hand.

He remembered squeezing the trigger.

After that, time had resumed.

Daryl stood staring down at the cast on Beth’s wrist, smeared now with the blood pooling around her hand. It pissed him off that the cop’s blood and Beth’s blood had started to mingle together. Daryl knew Carol had come up behind him, and he vaguely heard Rick’s shaken voice saying something to the others that Daryl didn’t really give a shit about. Not when Beth lay there, pale in death, the grisly hole in her skull still leaking blood and brain matter all over everything.

Daryl found himself jerking away from Carol when she tried again to stop him, and he clicked on the safety, then shoved his gun in his waistband. His knees clicked when he crouched in front of Beth, and he took the time to close her eyes and brush her blonde hair out of her face before scooping her body up into his arms. She was still light in the way that they had all become light; hunger and constant exercise shaping them into harder versions of the people they’d once been. Daryl felt his throat close up and had to blink the tears from his eyes when he felt a fresh trickle of Beth’s blood on his arm.

Jesus fucking _Christ_. Daryl didn’t know if this was real, or if he was imagining it. It didn’t seem possible really; that life could really be this cruel. Beth had been the sweetest of all of them. Just a kid. Daryl cleared his throat and lifted her a little so he could wipe his face with his clean arm, then stood, not bothering to look at the fuckers still staring at him and his family like they were the fuckin’ dinnertime entertainment. Rick gripped his shoulder and nodded at him, and Daryl was grateful that he didn’t try to speak.

There wasn’t anything to say.

Rick walked back to the front of the group, with Sasha following him. Tyreese helped to steady a shaky Carol, and Noah walked behind them, crying freely. Daryl remembered the hug he and Beth had shared, and somehow that just made all this worse; the realization that Noah quite likely blamed himself for all of this shit.

Following on the heels of that thought was the tiny, mean little part of Daryl that _agreed_. If Beth hadn’t tried to save this kid, then...

...no. No, that wasn’t fair.

Not to Beth, and not to Noah.

They were quiet as they all retraced their steps. The silence was sadly familiar. It was the same silence Daryl had heard as he knelt, exhausted in that crossroads, when he’d realized he’d lost Beth to the Grady vehicle. It was the same silence that had ricocheted through the early morning woods after Rick had ripped out Joe’s throat. They’d sat with their backs together against the metal of that truck for hours until Rick had been ready to hear what Daryl had to say. The silence was familiar, but not welcome. Their sad little group walked down a stairwell, opening a security gate and going back through the doorway that their prisoners had showed them... Jesus. Had it only been ten minutes ago? Twenty? It put them in what would have been an outpatient entrance in the old days. They could all see the army tents of the temporary base the army had set up.

That had been just another lie.

Daryl remembered how Merle hadn’t trusted the governmental entities that had been “in charge.”

“Fuck the National Guard, little brother. Fuck ‘em all. We’re gettin’ out of here before they start realizin’ that dead humans solves the problem of infected humans.” Daryl hadn’t even ribbed his brother for telling him to fuck the national guard - things had been much too dire by then for levity: People glued to CNN while the America they knew crumbled around them. People afraid to leave their houses. People who had looked gratefully to the military they’d trusted to lead them out of this mess...

No. It had happened about like Merle had predicted. Dead humans- even non-infected humans- solved a lot of problems. Daryl hadn’t even needed the shocking videos posted to the internet - videos of people in uniform mowing down patients in hospitals, in day cares, in evacuation centers, to realize how very fucked they all were.

Those empty tents were a just as much of a joke as anything else around here.

“Fuck.”

Rick’s swear was surprising enough that they all paused in place. Daryl shut his eyes, because the way Rick had said it couldn’t possibly be good. Not with the way he’d popped the ‘k’ sound, like a branch snapped in two. Daryl opened his eyes just in time to see Rick push open the door and make his way outside. Sasha looked back over her shoulder. “It’s Maggie and the rest.”

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

Tyreese and Carol followed Rick and Sasha at their slow, methodical pace. Daryl saw that Carol was leaning on Ty more than she should be, and had he the energy he would have frowned. Right now though, he could only walk and hope the numbness stuck.

It didn’t.

Maggie’s scream seemed almost too loud. Daryl didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t anything he _could_ do but own up to the fact that this was _his_ fault. Her scream echoed around the buildings, bouncing off the bricks and concrete until all Daryl could hear, all Daryl could _see_ was Maggie’s pain.

It was no less than he deserved.

He didn’t even realize that he was still crying until tears leaked off his jawline. Daryl walked to where Glenn held Maggie and stopped in front of her, feeling like he was awaiting sentencing. Dimly, he was aware of Noah limping behind them, bringing up the rear of their sad little party.

Maggie pushed her husband’s hands off of her and lunged towards Daryl, landing with her hands gripping his trousers. She used them to pull herself up, hands ghosting over her little sister’s legs, her hands and arms, and finally her pale, still face. Daryl braced himself so that he supported her weight, too ashamed to meet hers or Glenn’s gaze. Whatever she wanted to do - to hit him, to gut him, to hurt him like the way she was hurting - Daryl knew that he would do.

Maggie cupped Beth’s face and kissed her forehead, then her nose and finally her cheek before breaking away and trembling so hard that Daryl snapped his gaze to Glenn in warning that she’d simply collapse again. 

“Give her...to me.” Maggie’s voice shook with so much emotion that she could hardly get the words out.

Daryl felt like what was left of his heart was shriveling in on itself. He ducked his head, _painfully_ aware that he had no right to keep holding Bethie’s body like he was. She wasn’t his. She might have been his to help protect, but he’d clearly fucked that up all to hell and back.

Daryl ignored the way his knees cracked as he squatted down a little awkwardly, setting Beth’s body in her sister’s arms. Glenn’s throat worked hard at the sight, but he didn’t say anything, all his attention was on his wife.

Daryl felt a hand on his elbow and jerked away, ashamed at the tears on his face. Carol made a shocked sound and held up her hands defensively - like she was expecting him to hit her. He stalked off to one of the tents, not giving a fuck that they were all whispering under their breath about him. He didn’t care. Daryl shoved the corpse off the cot and threw himself down on it, scrubbing at his face and hands with the front of his shirt.

“Just let him be. He needs a few minutes. Come on, this place ain’t secure. We can give ‘em ten minutes then we move on.”

Daryl was too exhausted to snort. He was too exhausted to do much of anything really. His eyes burned with the need to sleep, and he had to think back to the last time he’d actually gotten a full night’s sleep. Maybe that night with Carol in the domestic abuse facility, before all this had gone to shit. But no - he hadn’t really slept then, had he? He’d closed his eyes for awhile, but the restless bumping of the walker and her child had been just about driving him bugshit. He’d been upset at himself for not realizing immediately what this place was. He’d been in enough of the damn facilities before. Never too long. Never long enough that any of the people with the good intentions and even better resources had helped him, but his ma had sometimes needed a place to go, or to heal, and had brought him with her.

He was just so fucking _tired_ of all this bullshit.

Like the little girl - Carol hadn’t needed to see that. She didn’t have to have the knowledge that either the mother or the kid had died first, and probably had attacked the other. Daryl had resolved to bury them - but had had to resort to a fire on the rooftop instead, burning their shrouded corpses so they’d have a little of the dignity in death that life had never seen fit to give them.

“Hey.”

Daryl huffed out an exhausted sigh. Rick didn’t ask for permission to enter, but just walked into the tent like he owned it. Weirdly, Daryl hadn’t realized how much the only person he had any interest in seeing was Rick, and only Rick, until just now.

“Hey,” Daryl answered, turning his head to look at Rick as he stood there in the familiar pose, hands on his hips.

“Abraham doesn’t think there’s enough gas to make it out of Atlanta. Think we can get some more vehicles? I don’t much want to spend the night here if we can help it.”

Daryl tried to get his stupid head to think, to focus on Rick’s words. It was a lot more difficult than he’d thought it would be. He sat up and pinched the top of his nose. “Where we goin’?”

Rick sighed. “Right now? Just not here. We need to... we need some time.”

Daryl nodded. He started to speak when Noah scratched on the tent canvas, knocking without really knocking. Both he and Rick turned to look at the younger man.

“Uh. Sorry? To bother you.” His eyes were red, and Daryl wondered again how close he and Beth had been. It surprised him that he hoped that they had been close; that he and Beth had had time to be friends in all of this. It certainly seemed that way.

“No bother - what’s up?”

“Just - I know how we can get out of here. I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but...I wanted to help. The Grady cops - they have a fleet of vehicles. They aren’t much, cuz none of them had been mechanics. I mean, I don’t _think_ they had been mechanics or anything - just cops, but there is something that should get us out of here.”

Daryl felt the first spark of interest, like an ember in a campfire flaring to life. “You want us to steal one of their vehicles?”

Noah’s chin tilted.

“I don’t owe them nothin’. None of us do. Not after what they did to...” Noah’s voice stopped abruptly, cracking with emotion. “What they did to Beth.” He shrugged. “We can take two cars, easy. Get to where you want to go. I just...I just want to know if I can go with you guys.” He looked down at his hands. “I know my leg is messed up, but I can...be of use. Um. If you want.” 

Daryl didn’t even have to look at Rick to know what he was thinking. That was one thing he could count on in this total clusterfuck of a day - that he and Rick were on the same page. Some days it was the only thing he _could_ count on

“I think...that sounds like a plan.” Rick rocked back on his bootheels, nodding. “Access to cars gets us the hell out of this place, yeah. Want to go show me, Noah?” Noah nodded.

Daryl looked back at the little cot. The only reason that anyone had left it was due to the dried bloodstains. Everything else had been stripped long ago. He frowned, wondering if they could use some of the canvas from the tent as a shroud or something for Beth. He wanted her burial done right - something that would make what happened to her  a little less...hard.

He scoffed and turned his head, walking to the front of the tent where Rick and Noah waited for him. That was a dumb thing to think. Daryl didn’t know much about family; his had certainly taken the cake for ‘most fucked up’, but he did know that a piece of tarp wasn’t gonna do nothing to make Maggie feel better about how her sister was murdered.

“They had a garage off of the entrance, near the other side. That’s where Beth got caught and I got...” Noah’s voice wavered and Daryl saw that Rick looked off for a second to give Noah time to compose himself. “We gotta be careful though. Lots of the biters around those parts, near the garage entrance. The uh, morgue especially.”

Daryl’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, despite his exhaustion. “Wait. Those fuckin’ cops haven’t cleared the hospital?” 

“No.” Noah looked at his feet. “No, they used the dead to keep us in there. Keep us scared.”

Daryl was honestly surprised at the dull spurt of rage that he felt. He didn’t think that he had anything left. He’d gotten some of Noah’s story on their madcap dash back to Father Gabriel’s church, but Noah hadn’t volunteered much, and Daryl hadn’t really given a shit, aside from the basics that would get him and the group back to Grady to rescue Beth and Carol.

“So you can take us there?” Rick’s voice swam up out of a murky gloom, ringing as clear as a bell, and Daryl found himself focusing on it like a drowning man on a rope.

“Oh yeah. There’s not enough of them to post a guard, especially not now. We might need a lookout though.”

Rick’s smile was tight. “No, I think the three of us will be fine. Come on, let’s head that way. I want to get the fuck out of here.”

They ducked through the tent door to see that their group was holding vigil around a still-distraught Maggie. Carol and Tyreese were talking with Sasha. Both brother and sister were clearly fussing over Carol, who was clutching at her side. Her skin had a grey cast to it that didn’t look too good, and Daryl was glad to see that Tyreese was taking care of her. Whatever the two had them had gone through after the Prison had been good for the both of them. Carl and Judith sat on the ground near them. The five of them were at the safest part of the area, where no walkers could get them. Abraham and Tara were guarding the gates, having already dispatched the few walkers that had been stumbling around. Glenn was near where they’d left Maggie. He gripped the gun he held with so much force it was surprising - for Glenn. He looked like he was ready to go kill people. Rosita was tending to some brutal-looking wounds on Eugene’s face, and Daryl knew that there was a story there. He was just too tired to give a shit. Michonne and Father Gabriel spoke quietly in the far corner, near where they’d exited the hospital. Daryl couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Michonne had that too-calm look on her face that didn’t bode well for whatever the priest was telling her.

Habit had Daryl taking in all this with a quick glance, sizing up both danger and where his people were.

“We’re goin’ to check something out. Michonne? You good over there?" 

Michonne looked up at Rick over Father Gabriel’s shoulder, understanding immediately that he’d given her an out if she wanted it. Her fingers twitched in the ‘all clear’ signal, and Rick nodded with a little twist of his lips. “Alright then. Noah’s showing us the parking lot. Might have a ride when we get back, so be ready to go. No more than 20 minutes. We got the walkie.”

Daryl saw nods all around, their people well-used to the method of telling people exactly where they were going and how long they’d take. Not knowing was stupid, and stupid got people killed. Rick chucked Carl under the chin, and kissed Judith on the top of her head, then the three of them headed out of the gates that Abraham and Tara had cleared. Daryl noticed that Abraham’s fists looked like he’d been knocking skulls together and figured that answered what happened to Eugene’s face.

Daryl caught Rick’s gaze and jerked his head towards Abraham’s knuckles. He might be too tired to deal with their shit, but not telling Rick something he needed to know just wasn’t gonna happen either.

“Yeah. I saw.” Rick rotated his head on his neck, stretching out muscles. “Later.”

“It’s uh. Just over here. I heard Dawn say once that they kept the keys in the vehicle, in case they ever had to get away quickly. But then one of the orderlies made it downstairs and was caught in one of the cars. Since then, they keep the keys on ‘em, upstairs.” 

“Ain’t no problem,” Daryl found himself speaking. Boosting cars was easy enough.

Noah looked confused for a second before his face cleared in understanding. Daryl shrugged. If this kid gave a shit about the life he’d led before the world ended then that was his problem. Daryl’s problem was getting Rick and their group, their _family_ a car so they could get the fuck out of here.

“That’s...amazingly useful.” Noah ducked his head shyly and Daryl tried not to be charmed. “There’s been a time or two I’ve needed a car and couldn’t get the darn thing to start.” Noah didn’t say that being able to steal them would be helpful, or ask Daryl to teach him. He was grateful for the kid not putting him in the position of having to lie. They didn’t make any long-term plans. Not anymore.

Rick cleared his throat. “Noah. How many walkers have you have you killed?”

Noah whipped his head around in shock. Rick drew himself up to his full height and cocked his head, waiting. Daryl took point, making sure that some undead asshole didn’t cut their conversation short.

“I uh. I don’t know how many? Lots.”

Rick nodded. Just about everyone (aside from Gabriel which was one of the many fucking reasons Daryl just didn’t trust that dude, collar be damned) answered that way. “How many people have you killed?“

Noah gulped, his Adam’s apple visible as he swallowed nervously. Here was the kicker-did they answer honestly? Or did they lie? That tiny spark of interest, where once it would have been a towering inferno before potentially letting someone into their family, now barely fizzled. Daryl even looked away, watching for either the Grady cops or something else more dangerous.

“Three,” Noah whispered, finally. He sounded so ashamed.

“Why?”

Noah didn’t hesitate. “Some guys attacked me and my dad while on the road, and...and...my dad got hurt. I got us out, but...” He broke off, stopping with a funny warble in his voice. “It didn’t end well. I ended up here.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the hospital.

Rick stared at Noah straight on, his blue gaze locking with Noah’s brown one. Noah didn’t flinch, and Daryl figured if he was lying, then he was damn good at it. “Alright. You ready?”

Noah nodded and turned, and the three of them crossed around the back of the hospital, ducking through the chained gate into the parking lot. There were eight vehicles in all shapes and sizes. One ambulance, one SUV, a Lexus, a Taurus, a few sedans, a van, and the 80's throwback dinosaur that had hit Carol.

“No guard?” Rick whispered.

“No-not with the dead ones around. Just be quiet and we should be okay. I’m pretty sure they were fed recently,” Noah breathed back.

Daryl didn’t even _want_ to know what the fuck that meant.

“Hold up.”

Rick and Noah did, taking guard while Daryl made his way to the ambulance. Self-preservation had him ducking down out of danger and opening it as quietly as he could. The _click_ was barely discernible, and Daryl hopped up and into the vehicle without much trouble. The cops weren’t stupid enough to leave any of their medical supplies in an unlocked ambulance, but maybe...

Daryl smiled grimly, the victory of finding a body bag momentarily overshadowing the cold, sad knowledge of who it was for.

Daryl slid out of the ambulance as silently as he entered and joined back up with Rick and Noah. Both of their faces fell when they saw the grim reality of what he held in his hands, but Daryl knew Maggie wasn’t exactly known for being a genteel southern woman. That girl was all fire and brimstone, especially when it came to one of hers. There was no fucking way that she’d leave this place without Beth, and well. The body bag kept Daryl from having to see Beth’s pale, still face.

Maybe that was cowardice. Maybe it was just being pragmatic. Fuck if Daryl knew.

Daryl jerked his head to the right, indicating one of the two of the sedans and the van. Just seeing the white crosses on the back windshields filled Daryl with a cold fury, but he understood where Rick was coming from. Two was enough to squeeze everyone in, and that age of car was much easier to steal. Daryl nodded and carefully walked over to the first one.

It wasn’t locked either.

That, too, was smart. If someone got caught, they could hide out in the vehicle until the dead assholes wandered off. He popped the hood, disabled the horn (which unless it was a helluva lot more fancy than Daryl thought also disabled the sound from the alarm), then bent down to start the car. It started with a low purr, and Daryl recognized the low thrum of satisfaction.

He moved to the van and repeated the process. This old white work van's engine wasn’t as well-maintained, and they could hear a faint knocking sound as it started. Daryl knew it was from shitty gas being used, but it wasn’t exactly like he had the time to fix it. He slid out from behind the steering column and saw Rick waiting in the other car.

To his surprise, Noah wasn’t with him. Rick pointed and Daryl whipped his head around, watching as Noah took out the tires of the ambulance, then the SUV, then the other vehicles, one by one. Daryl didn’t remark on the fact that Noah was crying while he did it, or the fact that he could hear the teenager’s muttered, “Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuck. _Them_!” over and over under his breath.

Daryl sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Noah. Come on, now.”

They were pushing their luck as it was. After the snipers from before, Daryl still felt too exposed.

Noah nodded and wiped the tears and snot from his face, then jogged over to the passenger side of the van and got in. Daryl blinked, stymied, then slid into the driver’s side. He took one last glance around the parking lot, realizing that this was probably the same place that Noah had gotten away from. That kid had been fucking incredible, doing anything he could to get back to Beth, who’d been recaptured saving him, by the same assholes that “kept them scared.” Daryl could respect that. Hell, Noah had done more for Beth than he had. The dead had started to notice the goings on, and were emerging at a shambling walk from the dark garage. The vehicles in the parking lot sagged on slashed tires, looking just as broken as everything else in this place.

“Ready?”

Noah took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’d like to get out of here. Let’s go.”

Daryl shifted, gunned the engine, and blasted through the gates, Rick following a few feet behind him. They turned around the corner to see that their people were all standing around, using the tents and the roof to block line-of-sight. Glenn was carrying Beth, and got quickly into Rick’s car. Maggie and Tara squeezed in as best they could.

To no one’s surprise, there was muffled gunfire in the distance

“Shit. We’ve overstayed our welcome. Come on!” Rick readied his Colt, waving his other hand out of the driver’s side door.

Michonne squeezed into the seat next to Noah, while Carl and Judith, Tyreese, Carol, Sasha, and Eugene all piled haphazardly in the back, all of them making sure that Carl and Jude were as safe as could be in the middle. Abraham, Rosita and Father Gabriel all hustled into the back of the van. Daryl was gunning the engine before Abraham had even shut the doors completely, and they peeled out of Grady.

Rick’s walkie-talkie crackled, and Michonne grabbed it off of Daryl’s belt. Daryl knew why - in streets like this, and with as much noise as they were making, he needed all his concentration for the damn roads.

“Yeah?”

“Listen, once we hit Decatur, head north onto 85. Glenn had a helluva idea of where to go to regroup, and it’s not too far.”

Daryl glared at the walkie-talkie, a sneaking suspicion growing in his gut. 

Michonne pushed the button and spoke. “Where to, Rick? Not lookin’ for any surprises here.”

“Ain’t no surprise. We’re going back to the quarry. Daryl knows the way.”

Carl and Carol both sucked in a shocked breath. Daryl’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Assuming it wasn’t overrun, it _was_ a helluva idea. It put them on familiar territory. Dark wasn’t all that far off, and Daryl knew that familiar would probably be better, although he privately thought that it would be a fuck lot easier to just hole up in a house somewhere.

“Alright." 

Michonne shrugged, content that Daryl knew what was what, and they made their way out of Atlanta in relative silence, all of them lost in their own thoughts for the duration of the ride.

 

****

It was weird going back to the quarry.

Daryl felt the punch again at seeing where they’d camped. Seeing where he and Merle had hid out, waiting for the ‘right time’ to take out the  ragtag group. Daryl had been all for it - until he’d caught sight of Carl comforting Sophia by the truck of a tree. Carl had tried so hard to make that little girl laugh. Oh, Merle had called him a pussy, but Daryl had absolutely refused to attack them after that, saying that he didn’t hurt no kids for no reason. He’d even pushed the issue, stumbling into Dale’s eyesight with his weapons holstered, taking a chance that the old dude wouldn’t blow his head off.

Merle had been so disgusted when he’d stomped out of the woods, but he’d never turn his back on his little brother, and the Dixons were going to go at it together...even if it meant putting up with Shane’s shit - ignoring the way he’d holler at anyone who wandered off to take a piss but would still sneak off to bump uglies with the hot brunette any fuckin’ chance he got.

Daryl heard Judith give a sharp whimper and he started in place, heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t have a key, but it was easy enough to shut off the van’s engine, ignoring the knocking sound as the engine sputtered to a close. Daryl opened the car door and as though it was some sort of signal, everyone slowly spilled out of the van. Rick had taken them through a different part, closer to the actual quarry than where they camped before. They were higher up, for one. At their backs was a sheer stone cliff, easily three stories high.

“We need someone to scout the top, make sure that nothing is ready to jump down on us. Someone else needs to go get firewood and water, and we need to make sure that Beth’s remains are...secure.”

Daryl felt his throat tighten. He had been so occupied with getting them the fuck out of Atlanta that he hadn’t been able to see to Beth properly. He turned towards Maggie. She had stopped crying, and stood there leaning slightly into Glenn’s strength, her face ravaged by her grief.

“I...I brought this for her.” His own voice didn’t sound too steady. Daryl knew that holding up a black body bag was probably the last thing Beth’s sister wanted to see, but he hoped that Maggie would somehow understand, cuz he for damn sure wasn’t able to articulate it. “We’ll take care of her. Until you decide what you want to do.” Daryl swallowed hard, aware that Abraham and Rosita had agreed to take care of scouting, while Carl and Noah went to look for firewood, and Tara pretty much shamed Father Gabriel into going and getting them water.

Maggie just stared at him with dead eyes, but Glenn nodded. Daryl’s legs felt stiff as he walked over to the sedan and spread the body bag onto the ground near it. They had stretched Beth along the backseat, and he could almost imagine that she was sleeping, except for the spill of blood under her head dripping off the leather seat.

Daryl felt like he’d killed her again as he gently moved her from the car to the bag, placing her inside and zipping it up. He knew that as horrible as it sounded, the trunk was the only place that would keep her safe from the bugs or the animals. Maggie moaned when he placed her sister inside of its depths.

“Hey.”

Rick’s voice was so unexpected that Daryl jumped, whirling and attacking as instinct trumped his brain. Rick’s strong fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping the swing of the knife. Daryl was so shocked that it took him a few minutes to relax into Rick’s grip and drop the knife. Rick bent to pick it up and handed it back to him without comment.

“Daryl. You need to rest, man. To sleep." 

Daryl frowned. “M’fine.”

“You are _not_ fine, man. Look around you.”

Daryl did and was utterly shocked to see that he’d lost time. Darkness had fully set, and the small fire crackled merrily enough. Michonne was feeding Judith, and the rest were scattered around its heat. Maggie stared blankly into the fire, and Eugene sat a little off from everyone else, but he and Rick were the only ones not by the fire.

“You’ve been here, leaning against the trunk for almost an hour. Come on.” Rick didn’t let go of his wrist, pulling him towards the comfort of the fire. “You missed the discussion. We’re headin’ out at first light. Maggie wants to bury her sister on her family’s farm and...” Rick trailed off, lowering his voice. “None of us could say no.”

Daryl blinked. He sat down by the fire and took the dish Sasha handed him. It was tasteless, but he ate it. He drank the flat, boiled, tepid water they handed him, feeling his eyes grow heavier and heavier. 

Back to Hershel’s farm?

That seemed...wrong somehow. Strange. Daryl found that he couldn’t shake off the bad feeling. Nothing good had happened on that farm, and nothing in his being wanted to go back there.

But it wasn’t his decision. 

It was Maggie’s, and for Maggie, he would do whatever he could do to make this easier on her. And who knows, maybe at first light things would seem better. Brighter. More hopeful. 

...but Daryl knew better. Nothing was better, or bright, or hopeful anymore.

It just _was_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the amazingly talented [ skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha) who is insane enough to look at this in its unbeta’d form.


	2. Illustration for chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To his surprise, Noah wasn’t with him. Rick pointed and Daryl whipped his head around, watching as Noah took out the tires of the ambulance, then the SUV, then the other vehicles, one by one. Daryl didn’t remark on the fact that Noah was crying while he did it, or the fact that he could hear the teenager’s muttered, “Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuck. Them!” over and over under his breath."


	3. Chapter 2- You Can’t go Home, Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the AMAZING artwork! I added [ lucife56 ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4285650?view_full_work=true)as a co-author because she so incredible to agree to illustrate parts of this story. Make sure you hit subscribe so you can be notified when something else gets added!

  


Rick and Shane used to have a tradition - way back when any of that shit mattered - where Rick would think of something that he wanted to say and he’d bellow to Shane, “Shane, take a note!” Shane would mutter something about not being anyone’s damn secretary and they’d both laugh.

 

 _This is gonna be a clusterfuck. Shane, take a note_.

 

They’d passed the highway where they’d looked so desperately for Sophia, Carol carefully not looking at the car where they’d so hopefully (and so stupidly) written a message for her daughter that they would come for her. They passed the small town that Maggie and Beth had grown up in, and Rick found himself slowing down, darting a quick look of worry in the rearview mirror, back at Maggie who sat in the backseat.

 

Conversation in the car remained stilted, all of them much too aware of the occasional _thump_ of Beth’s body shifting around in the trunk. Not reanimated - no. Just...dead weight; the physical reality of their heavy hearts.

 

Rick made the turnoff to the Greene farm, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in his gut. Here was where they’d lost so much, barely escaping with their lives. It was a strange sort of pattern to be back here. That field was where Shane had tried to kill him. Where Carl had killed his first walker. There was where he and Lori had---

 

He stopped the car near where they had camped so long ago.

 

“Oh.” Maggie’s breath caught, and in an instant she was out of the backseat, the door making the innocuous, old world _ding ding ding_ that still managed to drive Rick bugshit until he took out the keys. Glenn was out the door not even seconds behind her, and Carol, sitting next to him, sighed deeply.

 

Of _course_ it was destroyed.

 

The fire that Rick had set with Carl had obviously spread to the once-lovely farmhouse, turning it into an utter ruin. Knowing what they now knew about herd behavior, it had probably been a good thing, the noise and confusion bringing them for miles. But, that hadn’t done much for the decor. The upper floors had fallen in on each other, collapsing inwards like a deck of cards. There was one small corner of the house that was still standing, but anything useful had long since disappeared, either from the fire or from scavengers.

 

The fences had been trampled, and the fields were choked with weeds and other debris. The outbuildings had also been burned to the ground. Even most of the trees that had been so majestic, giving a sense of peace to the idyllic landscape, had burned to dead husks of ash. There were some willow trees further off, but that looked to be about it. The smell of char tickled Rick’s nose, and he was surprised by the massive wave of guilt he felt at the realization that _he_ was responsible for all of this.

 

Maggie just stared at her former home, too overcome even to cry. Rick looked to Glenn, who looked back helplessly. All of them had known this would happen, yet had somehow held out the minuscule bit of hope that there would be something recognizable here, something that would let them regroup.

 

“I want to...bury her by the lake.” Maggie’s voice hitched in a way that made Rick’s own heart hurt.

 

Daryl pulled up in the van, the gravel crunching under the wheels. The knocking sound spoke plainly of an engine that was on its last legs, and not for the first time, Rick wished that they had taken one of the other cars instead. The van had seemed like a godsend with such a huge party, but now it was turning into more trouble than it was worth. The miles they’d driven from the quarry to the Greene farm hadn’t been kind. Neither had putting in dribs and drabs of fuel from other vehicles, taxing an already strained engine. Even more worrisome, they had used the last of their food supplies getting here. Judith was on her last dregs of formula, and while she was probably technically too old to keep drinking it, Rick still insisted as it was probably the closest to healthy nutrition that his baby girl was going to get. He’d keep her on formula as long as she’d drink it - but they had to find it first.

 

“Rick? You heard me? I want to bury my sister by our lake.”

 

“All right.” Rick stifled a sigh. That’s what they were here to do, after all.

 

They hadn’t grabbed the portable shovel on their way to the hospital, and the Greene farm was utterly decimated. Rick looked to Daryl who shrugged and walked to the remnants of the house. Rick pinched the top of his nose. Daryl looked absolutely exhausted. His face had a weird, grey cast to it that just wasn’t normal. Rick knew that none of them had really had the time to process what had happened. Not since Terminus, really. They had started to in Gabriel’s church, but that had gone all to hell. The Greene farm wasn’t that spot for them, but they couldn’t move on until Beth was laid to rest.

 

Rick followed in Daryl’s footsteps, neither one of them commenting on the walkers that had been fused to the wood and melted metal that had once been the structure of the house. The fire must have burned hotter than normal for that to happen. Maybe Hershel had kept some sort of accelerant in the house. Rick supposed that it didn’t really matter now.

 

 _Shane, take a note_.

 

They both kicked at various pieces of wood and warped metal until enough broke off that they could use them as shovels. Rick and Daryl got six or seven pieces of varying lengths, so that others could help if they wanted to. It wasn’t ideal, but it beat using their hands. As one, they turned around and looked at Maggie. Both of them had heard the story of Beth throwing Maggie’s birth control in the lake, but neither of them had ever been there.

 

“Follow me. Glenn, will you...?”

 

“Of course.” He bent and picked up Beth’s body, carrying her bridal-style in his arms, already blinking back tears. Maggie turned around and started walking, and all of them made a sad little procession as they followed her. Unsurprisingly - it was close to the copse of trees on the north end of the property.

 

It seemed strange that there were no walkers around the farm. Rick tilted his head back, shutting his eyes for a second as he walked, feeling the sun on his face. His own eyes burned with exhaustion, and he really just wanted....wanted somewhere to rest. Just for a bit.

 

“Here. On this little hill.” Maggie grabbed one of the charred two-by-fours and knelt, stabbing it at the dirt. Daryl knelt beside her, and Rick started moving the dirt they kicked up. Abraham grabbed a metal piece and started digging, his face set in a grim line under his mustache. He managed to move more dirt than the three of them, all without even looking like he was trying very hard. Noah looked like he was ready to dig the entire thing himself if the look on his face was anything to go by. He ignored his sore leg and started digging, paying no attention to the heat of the day or the fact that he was already hurt.

 

Rick watched as Carol limped up, wincing when she bent to remove the dirt they’d set aside. Tyreese, Tara and Sasha both started at the other end, while Carl and Eugene, and Michonne started to look around, probably for flowers. In the heat digging was not an easy task, but the grim reminder that they all were in this together was clear. Rick found that it helped to not have to think. This was hardly the first grave that he’d dug. The muscles of his arms and shoulders screamed as he worked. Each scrape of dirt was a penance for not being smart enough. There had been another plan to get Beth and Carol out; and Rick couldn’t let himself forget that all of this might have turned out differently if he had just _listened_ , instead of going into the hospital with guns blazing.

 

“Here, Dad. We found these. I uh. I used one of the empty water bottles to make sure the roots stayed wet.” Carl’s voice jarred Rick out of the half-trance he’d been in. and Rick wiped the sweat off his head with his forearm. Carl held several flowers in a small water bottle. Bluebells. That was fitting. Rick tried to find it in him to smile back, but he didn’t quite make it, if the look on his son’s face was any indication.

 

“Would you like me to take her?” Father Gabriel smiled kindly at Carl, indicating Judith. Before Rick could say anything, Carl shifted his sister on his hip and refused the priest’s offer of help. “I’ve got her.” Carl set the flowers carefully to the side so that they wouldn’t be trampled, then walked over to sit down under the willow tree by the shore of the lake, bouncing a fussy Judith on his knee, doing his best to keep her out of the sun.

 

Rick didn’t miss that Gabriel didn’t help with digging Beth’s grave. He was pretty sure that none of the rest of his people did either. That man was _probably_ harmless, but he wasn’t one of them yet. Rick wasn’t entirely sure that he ever would be.

 

It took two hours for them to dig Beth’s grave. The sun was overhead when they placed Beth’s body inside her final resting place. It took four of them, with an anxious Maggie making sure that no one bumped her sister’s head, or hurt her in any way.

 

“I would like to say a few words, if that’s okay.” Gabriel drew himself up to his full height, pulling a Bible from his pocket. “I’ve marked a few passag---”

 

Maggie scoffed. “What’s the point? She’s already dead.” Her words were as hard and as devastating as bullets. Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Daryl flinch.

 

Gabriel frowned. “You may not want to hear this now, but it’s important that she is in God’s grace in death as she was in life.”

 

Rick turned to face Gabriel, absently wiping the dirt onto his already filthy jeans. “I understand that you’re trying to help, but...Maggie would let you know. Her wishes.”

 

Gabriel smiled tightly and shrugged. “I meant no harm. I never knew her,” he said, before walking back towards the cars. Normally, Rick would call someone out on that sort of passive-aggressive shit, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to all of this. He wanted this settled, so they could heal. Or start to heal.

 

 _I didn’t punch him in the mouth_ . _Shane, take a note_.

 

Rick knew better than to ask if anyone wanted to say anything. Maggie wasn’t wrong. Cruel maybe, blunt, certainly, but not _wrong_. Besides, none of them never really spoke at funerals anymore. He cleared his throat and pushed his sweaty mess of hair out of his face, waiting to follow Maggie’s lead.

 

Maggie nodded as though she’d heard something, and threw the first handful of dirt into the grave. The sound it made, the hissing crumble of earth on plastic, seemed disproportionately loud to Rick’s ears. She reached out with her other hand and Rick’s throat tightened when he saw that Glenn’s was just there, echoing her movement, hanging onto her as though he couldn't bear not to touch her, to share in some of Maggie’s pain. Their fingers linked together tightly, both just knowing that the other would be there for them.

 

After a few minutes, they all took turns covering Beth up with handfuls of dirt. It seemed like it took only a moment before Maggie had knelt and gently smoothed the crumbled dirt into a perfect oval over her sister’s body. Carl stepped forward and gave Maggie the flowers that he’d picked, roots and all, and Maggie half-smiled at his son in thanks as she planted them.

 

“Here.”

 

Daryl thrust forward a wooden plank on which he’d roughly hewn the words ‘Beth Greene - beloved sister’. Maggie didn’t say anything as she stuck one end of it into the soft dirt, but Rick saw that she was crying softly, tears trickling slowly through the muck on her dirty face.

 

By unspoken agreement, Rick’s family all agreed that Maggie needed a few minutes. They all went back towards the cars, going in pairs and in small groups, until only Maggie knelt by her sister’s grave, Glenn standing watch over her.

 

Rick wished that he was better with words, but any eloquence completely deserted him. Everyone stared at him, waiting for the words that would make this okay, or a decision that would give them all some sense of purpose.

 

It made his stomach turn. What the fuck did he know? It was _his_ decision that had gone so wrong. Rick was the reason that they were all here, exhausted and heart-sore.

 

“Alright. I’m open to ideas.”

 

Abraham was suspiciously silent. Rick frowned, realizing all at once that with one thing and another, he didn’t know the particulars of what caused Abraham, Eugene, Tara, Glenn, and Maggie to show up in Atlanta with Michonne, Carl, Judith and Gabriel. They’d all been too beaten, too hurt by Beth’s death to do much more than fumble around in shock. There hadn’t been time for questions or answers, not since Daryl and Noah stumbled out of the woods on Michonne’s watch.

 

“We need supplies, Rick. A house. Some time to just...stop. _She_ needs that, more than all of us.”

 

Michonne’s voice was pitched low so that her words wouldn’t carry to Maggie. “Whatever comes next’ll depend on that.” She shrugged, but there were a few exhausted nods from around the group. Tyreese looked around at the depleted farm. “We’re not too far from Lanier. Maybe two hours. It’s up there near Chattahoochee National Forest. Sasha and I used to spend winters up there with our dad. It’s not too populated. Fishing, near the woods for game...”

 

Rick saw Sasha look interested for the first time since Bob died. “Doubt we’re the first ones to think of that, but Ty is right. It’s close. There’s bound to still be cabins there. We got a water source, and we can hunt or fish for the rest.”

 

“Any objections?”

 

There were shakes of the head and apathetic shrugs from all around. Carl stepped forward and gave Judith to Rick. “I gotta do something first, Dad. Won’t take me long.”

 

Rick bit back the instinctive _no_ when Michonne turned to go with his son. Carl knew that no one went off by themselves, but was obviously put out at being treated like a kid. Michonne and Carl had become damn near inseparable since the prison, and Rick was surprised at the tiny spark of amusement he felt when the two of them had an entire conversation with their eyes-

 

I got this, don’t worry, Michonne.

 

Kid - you’re nuts if you think you’re going alone.

 

Okay ... _fine_ but hurry up.

 

-and they wandered off.

 

Judith babbled at him, and Rick’s attention was caught by his sweet baby girl as she excitedly pointed out a butterfly to her dad. She was just starting to indicate things that she wanted, or was excited by, and it made Rick terrified that she would soon start walking. Once she was walking, she’d be more difficult to protect. He didn’t often let himself start worrying about how different her life was compared to all of theirs, and it broke his heart to think that the roughness and heartbreak that they all struggled to deal with on a day-to-day basis was going to be her “normal.” Hell, when Carl had first started to walk, he and Lori had practically wrapped the house in bubble wrap - so worried that he’d take a fall and hurt himself. Still, Judith was only nine months, or thereabouts. She wasn’t crawling or walking, _or_ speaking yet and it was probably better not to borrow trouble before he needed to.

 

Judith thwapped him on his cheek to get Rick’s attention. “Ba!”

 

Rick started, focusing back on the here and now. That was the second time that he’d done that, and that was just unacceptable. Judith’s little face stared at him imperiously until Rick snuggled closer and kissed her forehead. He had to remain more with it while they were out here, unprotected, because, as they well knew, it only took a second for everything to go to shit. Rick looked up to see Maggie and Glenn embracing, Glenn rubbing her spine up and down until she pulled away, wiping her face. They started back to the cars. There was a low whistle from the lake, and Rick realized that Tyreese and his sister had gone to fill up their water supply. They didn’t have time to boil it right now, but it was always better to have it just in case. Rick didn’t much want to know what it felt like to slowly die of thirst. It seemed surreal that they had all once taken fresh, clean water for granted.

 

Carl and Michonne came back to the vehicles, both of them with the stooped shoulders and dejected air of two people who didn’t find what they were looking for.

 

Rick sighed and propped Judith on his hip. “I think someone needs to drive for Daryl. Abraham? Tara?”

 

“M’ _fine_.”

 

“You are not fine. You look like one of the damn walkers. It won’t kill us to have someone else driving.” Rick tried to think back to the last map he’d seen. The Greene farm had been a little southeast of Atlanta proper. They had had to backtrack a little from the quarry, but since they didn’t exactly have a final destination in mind, none of them had really minded. From what Tyreese said, Lake Lanier was in the north Georgia foothills, and Rick figured that they probably had enough gas to get there. If not, they’d be able to siphon some from stalls along the way.

 

Daryl frowned, but jerked one of his shoulders in a shrug, turning away from Rick, obviously offended.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Rick turned to get into the sedan, too tired to parse out what could have possibly been offensive in what he’d said. One by one everyone else got into the vehicles. Daryl might have been pissed, but he got into the backseat by Rick and Judith, with Carol squeezing in beside him. If Daryl looked half-dead, Carol looked like she was just seconds off. Whatever painkillers she’d been on at Grady had obviously worn off, and her face looked pale and wan, except for the two raccoon-like bruises under her eyes. She rested her head on Daryl’s shoulder, and to Rick’s surprise, Daryl allowed it.

 

Not for the first time, Rick wondered what exactly had happened when the two of them had bugged out to go back to Atlanta. They weren’t acting like lovers (not that it was any of Rick’s damn business if they were) and they weren’t quite acting like friends. Carol made a small, pained sound when Daryl shifted and rather than hurt her, he sat there awkwardly, with his arm over the top of the backseat.

 

Abraham and Rosita climbed into the front seat, with everyone else getting into the van. Rick’s exhausted gaze took note that Tyreese was driving, with Tara riding shotgun. The van pulled out first, and Abraham pulled out behind it.

 

The second time they left the Greene farm was much more calm than the first, but they were no less heart-sore. With the windows down, it wasn’t the worst ride Rick had ever taken, even as quiet as everyone was. Even Judith seemed to pick up on everyone’s mood, burrowing her face into the crook of Rick’s neck and taking a little nap. Rick was about 90% sure that both Daryl _and_ Carol had also passed out if the way she had curled into Daryl’s side was any indication.

 

They headed out onto the highway, keeping to secondary and tertiary roads - paved so that they could drive on them, but hopefully not as busy as 85 or 285 would be. The scenery hadn’t really changed all that much. This was farm country, owned by people who - back before everything went crazy - probably considered the suburbs of Atlanta as enemies encroaching on their land. There was no evidence of the herds that - only a year ago - had kept them moving hither and yon, trying desperately to avoid being caught by even a small one.

 

Rick sighed and shifted Judith on his chest. Her heartbeat was calming enough that Rick found himself unconsciously patting her back in time to the tiny beats.

 

Rick couldn’t keep his eyes open either. They grew heavier and heavier as he listened to Rosita and Abraham talking quietly back and forth to one another, their voices growing further and further away, reminding him crazily of the adults in the old _Peanuts_ cartoons. Rick’s thoughts scattered around different moments from throughout the day, winding down until all he could see in his mind’s eye was Beth’s grave, the freshly planted flowers a bright spot of blue in all the dirt. He hoped (not that he really had any use for a God anymore, but old habits died hard) that Beth would rest undisturbed, that maybe the pollen from the transplanted plants would grow over the mound where her body lay, so that eventually she would be covered in the blooms that she had loved so much. Rick shifted again in his seat, his eyeblinks becoming longer and longer as he tried to find the peacefulness he’d felt back in Gabriel’s church, when he’d agreed to go with Abraham to DC. It was difficult; Bob’s and Beth’s mangled bodies kept popping into his thoughts like unwelcome ghosts. Instead he concentrated on his baby daughter’s drawn-out, sleepy breaths until that was all he could hear.

 

_Shane, take a --_

 

Rick slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the amazingly talented [ skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha) who is insane enough to look at this in its unbeta’d form.


	4. Illustration for chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rick turned to get into the sedan, too tired to parse out what could have possibly been offensive in what he’d said. One by one everyone else got into the vehicles. Daryl might have been pissed, but he got into the backseat by Rick and Judith, with Carol squeezing in besides him. If Daryl looked half-dead, Carol looked like she was just seconds off. Whatever painkillers she’d been on at Grady had obviously worn off, and her face looked pale and wan, except for the two raccoon-like bruises under her eyes. She rested her head on Daryl’s shoulder, and to Rick’s surprise, Daryl allowed it."


	5. Chapter 3:The Kids Ain’t Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  (Note: I might be off a bit on the days post Coda. [ The Walking Dead Wikia Timeline ](http://walkingdead.wikia.com/wiki/The_Walking_Dead_TV_Show_Timeline)was exceedingly helpful. It says that “+514 / Day +530” is where they travel to Richmond, with them going to Noah’s former community on day +531.)
> 
> **TW:** This chapter has _extremely_ disturbing imagery. See chapter endnotes for possibly triggering content, or [ send me an ask or a message on tumblr ](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/ask) and I’ll be happy to tell you before you read.

 

“Daryl.”

 

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, his heartrate accelerating into his chest so quickly his breath staggered. He was at once ashamed and pissed off that he had fallen asleep on watch, and Rick had to wake him up.

 

He focused on Rick’s face, and frowned. No, he ain’t on watch. They’re not at the prison. Terminus-Church-Grady- _Beth._ The car they’d been riding in had stopped, and Rick was shaking his shoulder, trying to wake him up. Daryl blinked, and focused on Rick’s blue eyes, the exhausted twist of his lips.

 

“Yeah me too. Passed out like a baby.” Rick looked down at Judith, cradled on his chest. Rick’s daughter was oblivious to anything except feeling safe with her daddy, still drooling into his neck. Rick’s smile stretched blinding white behind the beard. He indicated Carol with his chin, and Daryl realized that Carol had curled into him much like Judith had with Rick, right down to the drool on the hollow of his neck.

 

Which was both pretty disgusting, and kind of hilarious at the same time.

 

Daryl heard someone clear their throat, and focused blearily on the back of Abraham’s neck.

 

“Alright sleeping beauties. We have about three hours of daylight left. We need to batten down for the night and I’ll be dicked if that lake over there ain’t just about jumping with fish.”

 

Rick leaned across Daryl a little so that he could peer out at the big man. “Everything okay?”

 

“You mean while you three snored like a buncha goddamn buzzsaws back there?” Abraham smirked behind his mustache. It was an obvious too-chipper attempt to lighten the mood.

 

Daryl knew when he was being teased. Still, he shrugged with the arm that Carol wasn’t trapping.  “Was nice to sleep. Ain’t been doing much of that lately.”

 

Carol snorted and Daryl rolled his eyes at the way she’d been shamming sleep. Now that he thought about it - she was one of the lightest sleepers Daryl had ever met. That woman could hear a mousefart underground, from twelve feet away. They’d all become lighter sleepers out of necessity but Carol had developed her skill early on, and honed it into something damn near supernatural.

 

Rick pulled open his door and slid out, long practice keeping him from jostling Judith so that she could continue her nap. Daryl wondered briefly if that was a skill that came with practice, or if Rick was really just that graceful. He frowned at himself, a little disturbed by the odd thought, and slid out after Rick, wiping the crusts of his sleepiness out of his eyes.  

 

The van had already pulled up, and the other members of their group had spilled out of it like bees out of a disturbed beehive. Daryl noticed that he wasn’t the only one who looked to have taken a nap, if the stretches and yawns were any indication.  

 

“You mind if I take her?”

 

Daryl watched as Rick smiled a little, handing his daughter to Tyreese. She looked tiny as she peeped open one eye, observed her father from a distance, and snuggled into Tyreese’s embrace, like she was perfectly fine with being hauled around from one person to the next. Daryl was surprised at the feeling he experienced when he saw them. Almost...jealousy. Not quite.  He wasn’t mad at Rick or nothin’ for giving Judith over to Tyreese, and he wasn’t mad at Tyreese for takin’ Judith. (How could he be when he and Carol had performed fuckin’ _miracles_ to keep that baby girl alive?) Daryl just wished that...he was sometimes the one that got to hold her. It was a dumb thing. He for damn sure didn’t know anything about babies.

 

The image of Beth cradling Judith and trying to place her into Daryl’s arms, the walls still echoing with the sound of her singing came to his mind with such suddenness that Daryl froze in place for a second, his heart shivering in his chest.

 

“Well, this looks lovely!”

 

For a second, Daryl was afraid he was gonna punch Gabriel. His fingers tightened into a fist, and Daryl was shocked at himself. After feeling numb for so long, the bright burst of anger was almost an outlier.

 

Daryl forced himself to breathe. He stepped away from the group, looking around. The biggest feature was the lake. It was massive, sparkling blue in the sunshine. He could see that there was a larger lodge area further off down the lake, and reckoned that before everything went to shit, this would have been a pretty nice recreational area in which to go camp and fish. It was still August, and the cicadas droned on; the sound of a Georgia summer in full swing. There was a bit of a breeze, and the leaves on the trees that surrounded the campground added an almost calming susurrus to the peaceful-looking scenery.

 

To Daryl’s left was the first sign of that people had been here before them. Two picnic tables had been overturned, and there was evidence of a large fire - the remnants of a sofa that had been used as kindling had been pushed onto one of the cement blocks.

 

Daryl turned further to his left, raising an eyebrow. There were four cabins clustered around small clusters of trees. Back in the old days, each one could have gone for two hundred bucks a night easy - some “rustic” living for some overly-enthusiastic Atlantean weekend warrior, ready to commune with nature...as long as nature had power, air conditioning, and indoor plumbing.

 

One cabin had been decimated. Fire. Maybe lightning had hit one of the trees or something, because the massive branch had crashed through the roof of the cabin. Animals and walkers had likely taken care of the rest. The fire had spread to the next two cabins. Structurally, they looked fine but Daryl didn’t think any of them particularly wanted to test it. On the other side of the parking area were the other two cabins. They didn’t look like anything was wrong with them. Glenn and Rick had already moved to begin clearing the two structures, while Daryl had been gawping around at the scenery like some asshole.

 

“It is kind of nice. Makes me think something’s gonna go haywire though.” Rosita stretched, her back popping from the long car ride. She called out to Rick, smiling when he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll wait out here with Tyreese and Carol while you guys check this place out.”

 

“Right.” Rick scratched his eyebrow. Glenn, looking determined, started walking towards the far cabin.

 

Rick nodded at Daryl, indicating with his head the cabin closest to him. Daryl took a deep breath and walked towards it, shaking off the weird numbness he felt. He figured that their group had made enough noise that anything inside would have heard them by now, but he swung his crossbow into his arms anyway, noting that Abraham had taken point with a large hunting knife held low. Abraham clicked his tongue and turned the handle of the front door, pushing it open with his elbow. The door swung open on squeaky hinges, sounding like the cheesiest horror film of all time.

 

Funnily enough, Daryl didn’t think he’d enjoy horror movies anymore.

 

There was a crashing sound and a two fat rabbits tried to scamper out towards the light from the open door. Abraham got one, and Daryl managed to nab the other by its ears, twisting and breaking its neck quickly so it wouldn’t suffer with the fright it felt. The scent of rabbit blood was sharp in his nose as he and Abraham waited a beat for anything else to stir. Tara appeared damn near out of nowhere and grabbed the two rabbits, with a grin. Daryl went in, seeing quickly that someone had been living here. There were two mattresses on the ground and what looked like a milk crate full of books. He saw a small stash of cans to his left, and quickly checked behind the doors in the master bedroom, the guest room, and the bathroom. There were no closets, and it looked like whatever mattresses had been on the beds in the guest bedroom were long since destroyed into a mildewed mess.

 

“Clear!” Rick’s voice came clearly through the open window, and Daryl swung his crossbow back onto his back, peeking into the kitchen cupboards. There were some towels stuck way back under the sink that didn’t smell too bad, if a little musty. There were assorted broken cups and plates from what had probably been a furnished vacation cabin back before. Now it was just a bunch of trash that someone had used for a sloppy target practice.

 

“Clear,” Daryl called out, noticing that Abraham had crouched by the canned goods, frowning.

 

“Looks like this was someone’s hideout.”

 

“It’s ours now,” Daryl said with a shrug. “Got some food in here!” he yelled out towards the outside, voice pitched no louder than any of them ever spoke anymore. Daryl stuck his head out of the window, noting that whoever had lived here had tried to barricade the window with a cheap-looking pressboard and some nails. It was a sloppy job, and Daryl was pretty sure that the slats were from one of the old twin beds that had been in the guest room.

 

“Hi.” Daryl jumped to see that Glenn had poked his head through the other cabin’s window, and had managed somehow not to laugh outright at Daryl’s startlement, but his smirk spoke volumes. “Looks like there was some kind of pipes that burst in here. Smells like somebody’s dead butthole.”

 

Daryl thought that was a tad too specific, but wasn’t going to ask. He was pretty damn sure he didn’t want to know.

 

“There’s a mattress though. Not too funky. Nothing else unless you want to burn a lot of wet wood.”

 

“Not particularly.”  Daryl pointed. “Bring it over. There’s stuff here.”

 

Rick had already poked his head inside, their people following him. “Not bad. Give us some time to catch our breath. Abraham, you want to help me with these beds? We can clear out this room, and spread out a little.”

 

Carol came in and made straight for the couch, swaying a little like the few feet from the car to the cabin had exhausted her. Before Daryl could do anything, Carl handed her a water bottle, and she smiled tightly up at him in thanks.

 

Tyreese handed off Judith to her brother and unhooked his hammer. “Here, I can help with the windows. Lemme go get some nails.”

 

Rick nodded and he and Abraham started moving the bed carcass outside. There were two twin frames, made out of cheap wood-like pressboard. The two of them easily carried it outside. Daryl followed, fingers itching to see what kind of fish he could find in that lake. Eugene and Noah had already beat him to it, both of them trying to carve rudimentary spears out of slats from the bottom of the bed.

 

Sasha, Tara and Michonne had taken charge of their belongings from the two vehicles, taking their smattering of belongings and piling them up onto two picnic tables that they’d pulled right up to the cabin’s porch. Rosita swung herself up into the van and started the engine, quickly pulling it  up so that they could make a fast exit if they needed to. She parked the sedan the same way, providing a barrier of sorts in case of attack.

 

Tyreese hummed softly under his breath, holding his stocking cap in his hand. It jangled with the sound of nails. Father Gabriel had found a tire iron and was grimly breaking down the bed frames into usable parts. Daryl wanted to give a shit about the man’s obvious frustration, but couldn’t quite bring himself to. At least he was doing something to make himself useful. Which was more than Daryl was doing right now, come to think about it. He watched Eugene and Noah start attempting to stab fish and had to fight off a smile.

 

“Y’all are gonna scare off all the damn fish with all that racket!”

 

Daryl heard a snort from behind him and saw that Rick and Abraham came out with the other bed. Both of their eyebrows had climbed to their heads to see Gabriel in his shirt sleeves, trying his best to reduce the bed to toothpicks.  

 

Eugene whooped when he stabbed a fish, and the two of them high-fived each other. Sasha shook her head, obviously trying not to laugh. “Yeah? You the fish whisperer or something?” Noah’s voice was too loud, but no one called him on it. It was too rare to hear any of them speak with that sing-song, childlike tone of challenge.

 

Daryl narrowed his eyes, considering. He walked over to the sedan, leaning in through the passenger side window and popping the trunk release.

 

“What, you gonna drive over ‘em?” Noah snorted, bit his lip and stabbed at something in the water with a giant splash. Daryl rolled his eyes. Any fish that were actually in the water probably swam for Canada.

 

He walked back around to the trunk and made a small sound of satisfaction. The sedan was one of those fancy-ass ones that had the leather seats that warmed your ass and had a trunk big enough for a grown man to stretch out comfortably in.  Near the back, cutting the trunk space in half, was a grocery net, made so groceries wouldn’t go willy-nilly if someone had to slam on the brakes. Daryl grabbed his knife and cut the little nylon ties on each side. He bundled the material up so that Noah and Eugene wouldn’t see, stopped by the tree to cut off a couple of twigs, and made his way to the lake.  

 

By now, everyone was watching. Rick and Abraham had cleared out the furniture in both bedrooms, and Carl was helping Gabriel to break everything down. The four of them had stopped their work and were all looking towards Daryl, Eugene and Noah, like they were waiting for the punchline in a really long joke. Sasha had paused in cleaning the assault rifle she’d picked up, and sat on the picnic tables with Michonne and Tara. Carol was standing in the door with Judith,  and Glenn and Maggie stood off by the ruined cabins, grimly skinning the two rabbits.

 

Daryl bent over and unlaced his boots. He ignored the wolf whistles when he took off his boots and rolled up his trousers to his ankles. He couldn’t take off his pants because he was naked underneath them, and Daryl didn’t much feel like putting on a show, thanks. Of course with how cold that water was gonna be, it might not be that interesting of a show.

 

The water felt shockingly cool against his overheated body. Daryl gasped at the sensation, feeling very much like a man startled from the murkiness of dreams to the reality of wakefulness. Eugene held up a hand and Noah stopped stabbing at the water.

 

Daryl looked down into the glass-clear water and wiggled his toes. With his other hand, he held up the grocery catch-all net and let it unfurl.

 

Eugene cocked his head. "I do believe that's about the most intelligent thing I've seen today, and yes I am including my own unique visage in that claim."

 

Daryl snorted and quickly weaved the two sticks through the two shorter ends of the rectangle, before carefully dropping the net into the water. It landed with a small _plop_. Daryl crouched and grabbed up the ends, content enough to wait.

 

He always kept something in his pockets. Usually it was something like crackers or a squished granola bar, something that Judith could gum to death if she was feeling hungry. The cheerios were stale as hell, but since there'd been no boat traffic or fishermen around in god knew how long, Daryl thought that the fish would probably not be too picky.

 

They weren't.

 

Within minutes, several fat, curious fish had swum over to the net for a snack, content enough to ignore the human since Daryl was careful not to move. Daryl slowly shifted his weight, waiting until there were several fish in the makeshift net, before erupting into action.

 

He pulled the sides of his makeshift net up, rocketing up out of the water and bringing the sticks together with his other hand. Daryl, because he was kind of a dick, held up the net full of fish and smirked in the two would-be spearers’ direction. He easily had six or seven fish there, and that was with about five crushed-up cheerios. He smirked.

 

Eugene just shook his head while Noah mimed doffing a top hat and gave him a funny sort of bow.

 

“Here.” Rick’s low voice behind him caused Daryl to turn so fast that he almost ended up on his ass in the slippery water. Daryl peered up at him with a surprised squint. Rick held out a box, and Daryl dumped the fish in them, before turning and tossing the net and his Ziploc bag of cheerios to Eugene and Noah.

 

“Not the fish whisperer, but I’ve caught my share. Y’all get to clean ‘em.” With that, Daryl walked out of the shallow water, up the bank to the grass where he sat down, staring out at the lake. He’d gotten the bottoms of his pants wet, and they steamed a little in the impossibly humid air.

 

The tap of Tyreese’s hammer echoed out over the lake as he finished securing the windows.  Daryl knew that he should probably help get the cabin ready before sunset, but it was nice to just sit here and take in the surroundings. He wished he had a fuckin’ cigarette, though.

 

He gave himself another twenty minutes, watching Eugene and Noah get the hang of fishing with the net, trying not to smirk too loudly. They ended up with another twenty or so fish, and with the peaceful surroundings and the promise of a good dinner, the mood lightened considerably. Not completely - none of them were ready to forget Beth, but shoulders weren’t hunched in, and Daryl noticed people actually made eye contact with one another.

 

Tyreese built a fire inside, using the fireplace so that it wouldn’t be visible, and soon the smells of cooked rabbit and baked fish rolled out of the little cabin. Daryl smiled a little, picturing everyone winding down, hopefully relaxing a little. He rested his head against the tree trunk for a moment, watching the sun set over the lake.

 

The lodge area would probably have been looted already, but they could usually scrounge things even in places that people had already combed over. Those places had lots of shit for rich folks, so it was a toss-up.

 

“Here.”

 

Michonne’s katana thunked awkwardly against the tree trunk as she sat down, holding something on a flat rock. Daryl’s stomach gurgled at the scent.

 

“You guys go ahead.”

 

Michonne rolled her eyes so hard that they probably affected wind currents in other countries.

 

“Everyone ate. Everyone’s full. Judith looks like she swallowed a basketball. Even Maggie ate her fill. This one is for you, so _eat._ ” The unsaid ‘or I’ll make you’ was no less understood. Daryl shrugged and took his rock, eating his fill.

 

“There were green onions growing by the burnt out cabin, and the cans of peaches were inside when we got here. Good, huh?”

 

Daryl’s stomach gurgled again, and he tried not to be too obvious at the way he was snatching bites of steamed fish and roasted rabbit. The grease on the rabbit was so good that he licked his fingers, not even caring that aside from the dip in the lake, they were probably filthy.

 

“It’s weird that there’s no walkers around. I like it here.” Michonne’s voice sounded a tad wistful as she spoke, looking out into the dark night.  

 

“No people, either.” There were no other fires dotting the landscape to signify that there were other people around.

 

Michonne nodded, then got up. “Think we’re gonna turn in. Rick wants to check out the lodge and the rest of the area tomorrow, maybe find another vehicle.”

 

Daryl burped, then ate his last piece of steamed fish and onions. He jerked his head in a nod, and Michonne’s teeth flashed in the darkness as she walked back towards the camp.  

 

He sighed, and rested his head against the tree trunk. The sky was gorgeous. Daryl didn’t know the last time he’d been able to just look up at the stars, but the moon cast its glow over the lake, causing the water to reflect in its starry expanse. It looked like a painting Daryl had once seen, of some place that he’d never been, and would probably never go. France, maybe. Or Greece. Someplace from one of the story books he used to look at when he was a kid, wishing desperately to be anyplace other than his room.  A sound in the bushes caused Daryl to freeze in place, hand tightening on his knife reflexively. The shot of sudden adrenaline was like a pebble ripping into the still surface of the water, destroying the relative calm. He rose to his knees, staring into the darkness, straining in the moonlight to get a glimpse of whatever had caused the noise.

 

Nothing. Animal, maybe.

 

Still, it was stupid to be out here alone.  

 

Daryl stood up, winced at the pins and needles in his bare foot and calves, and shoved his feet back into his boots. He needed to piss, and needed to get some actual sleep. Plus, he knew that Rick wasn’t going to set a watch until Daryl had gone inside.

 

Daryl took care of his business, keeping a careful watch for any sort of danger. He had developed pretty good instincts, and while his heart still beat a little more quickly than normal, nothing else made him think that there was a walker, or any other sort of danger around.  Still, he’d make sure to tell whoever was on watch.

 

Daryl slipped inside the door to the cabin, and faltered, freezing in place as several pairs of eyes turned immediately to him.  He could see the rough sympathy in their faces, and ducked his head, embarrassed and a little pissed off.

 

There wasn’t any reason for them to treat _him_ like anything special.  If anything, Maggie deserved all that stuff. Sure as hell not him.  Daryl set his bag by the door and looked around, glad that everyone seemed to had gone back to doing whatever they had been doing before he’d come inside the cabin.

 

Sasha and her brother spoke quietly near the window, clearly about to go on watch. Maggie and Glenn, and Tara and Eugene were nowhere to be seen, and Daryl supposed that they had gone to one of the bedrooms. Carol had commandeered a mattress in the back of the room, near where a table would have been, and had curled up around a sleeping Judith like a comma. To her left, Michonne was reading a book, her back to Carol. To Carol’s right, Abraham cleaned his boots, and Rosita looked like she was working up the nerve to ask him something. There was just enough room on Carol’s mattress for the big man to stretch out, although Daryl was pretty sure that Abraham would end up on the floor, rather than make Rosita sleep rough.

 

Noah and Carl spoke quietly by the fire, Noah’s hands waving around to emphasize a point as they conversed back and forth. There were pillows and blankets near the two teenagers, and Daryl supposed they were going to be comfortable enough. Further back, on what was once the kitchen floor, Father Gabriel was huddled into a blanket, already snoring softly.

 

That left the couch and one of the twin mattresses that they’d recovered from the other cabin.  Rick was dead asleep on the mattress, his hand flung out towards his daughter. His Colt was only inches from his head.

 

Before Daryl could walk over, the door to the second bedroom opened up and Eugene, then Tara slipped out. Tara shut the door softly, and Maggie’s soft, choking sobs could be heard.

 

Daryl saw that Eugene didn’t check his instinctive glance to make sure he knew where Abraham was. The scientist’s shoulders hunched when Abraham’s nostrils flared, then hunched still further when Abraham turned so his back was to all of them.

 

Without thinking too hard about it, Daryl turned towards Rick’s mattress. No fucking _way_ was he gonna put himself in whatever shitstorm of drama had happened with the newest members of their little group.

 

Daryl set down his crossbow, kicked off his already unlaced boots, and rummaged for a sweatshirt that he usually used for a pillow when they couldn’t find anything else. He tried to ease down onto the mattress, but Rick woke anyway, turning onto his side to give Daryl more room. Daryl stretched out with a little grunt, his overworked muscles enjoying the relative softness of the mattress. He took off his knife and set it by his head, then set his other knife by his shoulder, under the end of the mattress. He stared blearily at the back of Rick’s neck until his blinks turned longer and longer, eventually relaxing into the peacefulness of sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“I think we should split into two groups. Don’t need all of us tramping around, announcing our presence to whatever wants to listen.”

 

Daryl had to hide a smirk at the way Carl rolled his eyes at his dad’s lecturing tone. Rick didn’t mean to, but every once in awhile he’d talk to them like they were idiots. Most of the group seemed to ignore it as just one of Rick’s little idiosyncrasies, but Carl always seemed to take it personally, like he was talking just to him.

 

Course, Daryl hadn’t been much different when he was thirteen.

 

“Who wants to go?”

 

“Me ‘n’ Maggie are gonna sit this one out.” Glenn’s wry smile spoke volumes about his sleepless night. “Someone see if you can find me a new shirt through. This one is filthy and I don’t have any more.” Maggie hadn’t even come out of the bedroom, even though it was easily ten o’clock by now.

 

“I’ll go.” Abraham’s low voice rolled around all of them.  “Be nice to stretch my legs a bit.”

 

“Right. Daryl? You good? Rosita? Sasha?”

 

“I am still a bit cobwebby from watch. Gonna catch a nap, if that’s okay.” Sasha hitched Bob’s jacket up onto her shoulders, as her lips twitched in an approximation of humor.

 

“I’m in.” Rosita tilted her head.

 

“Me too.” Daryl nodded and stretched, rotating his arms above his head. He felt fine going; between Glenn, Maggie, Noah, Eugene, Tara, Michonne, Carl, Gabriel, Tyreese and Sasha, even if she was asleep, and Carol, even if she was hurt, were still there to see that Judith was safe. Rick must have thought the same, because he nodded and checked his utility belt for ammo.

 

“I’ll go fill up the water bottles,” Rosita smiled. “We have plenty of boiled water. The lake is probably okay, but we thought it was best to be safe.”  

 

“Good thinking.” Rick yawned hard enough that his jaw cracked. “You guys set here?”

 

Michonne nodded. “Think we’re gonna try some more fishing. Eat up our fill before we go.”

 

Rick smiled. “Maybe we can stay here another few nights. Catch our breath, you know?” He didn’t tell the group to ‘have fun and be careful’ but it was pretty obvious that Rick was biting his tongue so that he didn’t give them a bunch of directions, treating the group like kids home from the weekend without their parents around. Daryl found himself grinning, then froze for a second, wiping the grin off of his face. That didn’t seem right. Rick poked his head back inside the cabin to say goodbye to his children, then they were off.

 

They set off without much fuss.  

 

It was a good morning. The heat hadn’t hit yet as they followed the lake shore trail towards the much larger lodge building. None of the four of them had wanted to take the vehicles, preferring to leave them with the group in case they needed a quick getaway.

 

“It’s weird that we haven’t come across any of the dead ones.” Rosita’s voice caused Daryl to jerk in surprise, startling him out of the headspace he’d been in.

 

“This area ain’t all that populated,” Rick said, looking around. Even with the low amount of heat in the air, the humidity had caused his hair and beard to curl a little crazily. He tilted his head. “Still, I would have expected to see them near the area we stayed in. Maybe they’re near the lodge.”

 

Abraham cut a stubborn piece of kudzu out of his way, frowning down at the wild plant like it had done something to him personally. Daryl caught Rick’s gaze and Rick nodded.

 

Daryl felt the same low thrum of energy go through him, like it always did when Rick just immediately understood him. That connection wasn’t something that he’d ever had before. With Merle, he’d been loyal in the way that it had been just him and Daryl against the world for the longest time. But with Rick... there was something different. Something that Daryl didn’t quite have the vocabulary to name; their leader just seemed to _get_ him. To understand what Daryl wanted to say when he couldn’t get the words out. It made him feel... proud, that Rick trusted him that way.

 

“You put some peroxide on that?”  Rick’s voice cut through the relative silence like a sudden thunderclap on a nice day. Abraham reacted about the same way, startling in place and looking down at his bloody and bruised knuckles like he didn’t recognize them at the ends of his arms.

 

“ _No_ . He _didn’t._ Because, he’s an _idiot_.” Rosita swung around, her hands on her hips.

 

Abraham’s frown turned dark. “Ignore it, Rosita.”

 

She tossed her hair. “Or what? You going to knock the shit out of me, too?”

 

Daryl watched as Abraham’s hands closed into fists. Rick moved to intercept, but Daryl reached out to touch Rick’s arm, stalling him. Daryl shook his head, once. Abraham would no sooner hurt his girl then slit his own wrists. Tightening his hands into fists was a punishment; the self-flagellation of a guilty man. Daryl knew the type of fucker that would hit a woman, and Abraham for all that he was loud and brash, was not that type of man.

 

Rosita’s face softened immediately, contrite. She reached out to him, stepping forward so that the long line of her body brushed Abraham’s. “I’m sorry, Abraham. That wasn’t fair of me.”

 

Abraham jerked a shoulder, head still bowed.

 

“Eugene did a dumb thing.” Rosita caught sight of both Daryl and Rick’s faces. Neither of them had bothered to hide their confusion. “Oh. Shit. I guess no one told you with...everything that happened.” She took a deep breath, not moving away from Abraham, but turning so that she could stare at them properly. “You probably figured out that we couldn’t make it to D.C. - but what you didn’t know is that...Eugene isn’t a doctor. He isn’t gonna save us all.” Her voice wobbled a little. “He lied.”

 

“Yeah, no shit.”  

 

All three of them turned to stare at Daryl. He blinked a few times, surprised. “Was a bullshit story. Ain’t sayin’ he’s dumb or anything, but that was a little too far-fetched, like a book or something.”

 

Rick’s eyebrows narrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Daryl shrugged. “We needed to go someplace. D.C/ was as good as any.” He didn’t say, _‘because_ _you_ _wanted_ to _believe_ _him_ , _and_ _I_ _wanted_ _to_ _believe_ _you_.’ It sounded too stupid, even in his own head.

 

Abraham visibly straightened, almost seeming like he took up too much space. He nodded, obviously over discussing the whole thing, but Daryl didn’t miss the way that he touched Rosita’s shoulder with one finger. For the first time, he wondered how long the two of them had been together, then mentally shrugged. It didn’t matter, he supposed. As long as they both wanted to be there, it wasn’t none of his business.

 

They started walking again, making their way through the overgrown path. After the first half hour of no walker activity, Daryl started to get suspicious, but by the time an hour went by, his skin was prickling with something very much like fear.

 

The last time things had felt this off was had been when he, Rick, Michonne and Carl had strolled into Terminus.

Eventually they stumbled out onto a parking lot, the four of them tensing automatically and scanning for danger.

 

...only to see that there was none.

 

Literally, nothing.

 

“What the fuck..?” Abraham trailed off, looking around. “Where’s all the...” He waved his hand around, but Daryl was pretty sure everyone caught his meaning. The large parking lot would have easily held two hundred cars before, but now it was completely empty. Utterly. No walkers, no dead bodies, no destroyed property. Everything had been cleared out, leaving a vast expanse of concrete.

 

The only thing out of place was a set of barricades, set up at the entrance to the parking lot, at the south end of the lodge. There were a few Gwinnett County vehicles parked behind the barricades, but that was it. _Those_ showed signs of looting, and it almost made Daryl feel a little less nervous at seeing the flat, bald tires and eviscerated insides of the two trucks. _That_ at least was normal. He started to walk over towards the barricades, frowning. “Hey! There’s something written on these.”  

 

Rick jogged up next to him, Rosita and Abraham falling just behind, both still craning their necks around, ready for the danger that they all felt.

 

They walked around the lodge’s welcome sign, and stopped, stymied.

 

**BY ORDER OF GWINNETT COUNTY SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT:**

**THIS AREA IS PART OF A MANDATORY EVACUATION.  ALL PERSONS TO REPORT TO LOCAL SCHOOLS FOR BUSSING TO ATLANTA RESOURCE CENTERS, EFFECTIVE 2/--/12.**

 

The date had been obscured, and written in red paint were the words:

 

**ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.**

 

“Hnnhn,” Rick grunted.

 

Abraham snorted. “Shit. That would explain it. Bet they cleared the area so that they could later use the resources here - but it all got dicked before anyone could remember to come back.”

 

Rick turned towards him.  “That happen a lot?”

 

Abraham snorted. “You don’t remember - how...how quickly it all happened?”

 

“No.” Something flickered across Rick’s face, too quickly for Daryl to identify. “I wasn’t awake for all of it. Coma.”

 

Abraham’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, which considering the height of the man’s forehead, Daryl thought was a pretty neat trick. One huge hand came down to slap Rick’s shoulder, his lips twisting into a small smile under his mustache. “That, my friend, sounds like one helluva story. Can’t wait to hear how the fuck you managed _that_.”

 

Rick’s smile was tight, in the way it always was when he thought of Lori and all that he’d lost, his blue eyes dull.

 

“But that explains the emptiness. Sort of. Not the lack of walkers.” Rosita looked around, like she expected a whole herd to melt out of the woods. To be honest, Daryl couldn’t blame her. They’d gone past the ‘the lack of walkers is an idyllic nice change’ phase to ‘this was just fucking weird’ phase with hardly a breath in between.

 

“Well - this area _is_ pretty remote. Maybe they just didn’t find it. Or there could be more barriers, something like that.” Abraham ran a hand through his hair. “Well, shit. I don’t know. Let’s go for our looky-lou at the lodge. See what we can scrounge up.”

 

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to leave them longer’n we have to.” He meant Little A and Carl, which Rick seemed to get, if the quick smile he shot in Daryl’s direction was any indication.  

 

As one, they all started in the direction of the lodge. There was a golf course peppered with large trees that lined the area, giving the building the appearance of great distance. In reality it was probably only about a half a mile from the parking lot, but with the niggling feeling of paranoia the walk towards it produced, it felt like much further away. To the right was a pool, and what looked like a pool house. It really had been a ritzy area. Now though, it just looked desolate.

 

“It’s locked up.” Abraham stopped in his tracks, pointing.

 

They’d expected the plywood on the windows, boarding up the huge building. They _hadn’t_ expected the plywood nailed over the doors, nor the thick chains wrapped around the few bars of the front.

 

“Wait. Why is there  plywood over all the windows on the other floors? Look at that.” Rosita sounded confused, but her hand tightened on her Magnum.  

 

“We need to make sure.” Rick’s tone brooked no argument. “Not ready to give up quite yet.”

 

None of them were too keen on splitting up, but it didn’t take too long to walk around the building.  Daryl counted easily thirty windows, all boarded up.

 

“That chain has to be as thick as my wrist. What the fuck are they trying to...” The rattle on the door caused Abraham to stop mid-sentence.

 

They all knew what that sound meant.  

 

The walkers trapped inside were loud, now that they smelled live meat. There was the tiniest crack between the two sets of double doors, and Daryl could clearly see the shadow of rotting fingers scrabbling to break through. That explained the chains, at least. The dead threw themselves against the wood of the doors, causing them to rattle behind the chains.

 

All four of them backed up, almost in sync.

 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Rosita swore, hand gripping her weapon. “That explains that, I guess.”

 

Yes. It did. Someone had actively worked to lock up the walkers they’d found, and used what looked like the entire lodge, and a shitload of supplies to do it. Of course, if the area had been evacuated, then there were probably more supplies around. It still seemed like a horrible waste though, not that anyone had asked him.

 

“You think we should clear it?” Abraham’s fingers twitched as though he was ready to go pry the chain off the doors - single-handedly.

 

“ _Fuck_ , no! Whoever put them there probably stripped it down.” Daryl shook his head. “We can try the pool area. Looks like there’s a snack bar. That might get us something, but right now I feel like a damn mouse in front of a cage full of cats.”

 

Rick nodded. “They’re riled up enough that anything could happen. Daryl’s right. We check the other buildings, and go back.”

 

Rosita sighed. “Shit. So much for the peaceful scenery. No way am I staying near _that_.” She jerked her chin towards the boarded-up lodge.  

 

In one blink Daryl saw Hershel’s barn, Sophia’s dead body carefully picking her way out towards food, some leftover instinct keeping her from tripping over the dead bodies in front of her. He could feel Carol’s thin frame fighting him to get to her daughter, could see the spray of blood that fanned out when Rick shot Sophia in the head. The _thump_ when she’d hit the ground had been very loud. In the next blink, Daryl saw what it would be like for that building full of walkers to overwhelm Carl, or Judith back at the camp.  

 

Rick’s boots clicked as he walked on the once nicely-landscaped concrete path towards the pool.  Daryl hurried to catch up to him so that they were walking side-by-side, Abraham and Rosita catching up the rear. Daryl could see that Rick had been bothered by what they’d seen. He wondered what was bugging him, but knew that he’d never come right out and ask. Daryl trusted that Rick would tell him if he needed to know.They were close, but not at that level of intimacy.

 

Daryl barely suppressed a shiver at the word ‘intimacy’, wondering why the hell his brain had supplied _that_ word of all the damn fool things. He shook his head, trying to physically shake off the weird feeling of his skin suddenly being too tight for his body. He looked at the pool area, still feeling a bit out of it. His whole day had been just the slightest bit _off_.

  
The pool had been nice once. Here, there were signs of people living hard. The water was filthy, but the level of the pool was low enough that it was easy enough to see that  they had probably used it as a water source.

 

“We’ll take the snack bar. You guys take the pool house?”

 

“Yeah.” Rick nodded, turning towards what would have been a changing area, bathroom, and set of shops. Daryl followed him, and they were quiet as they got closer to the building. Like the bigger area, this too had thick sheets of wood over the windows. It was much smaller in size than the lodge had been, and was only one story.

 

The two of them turned the corner and stopped short, staring.  

 

The chains were on the doors here too, but it looked like one of the glass partitions behind the chain had been broken. A man was caught there, long-since rotted in the sun and exposure to the elements. He was truly dead, the bullet hole in his skull and the spray of blood and brain matter on the wooden part of the door telling Rick and Daryl just as clearly what had happened as if they had witnessed it.  He was very thin, and looked as though he had been trying to shove himself through the small opening the doors would have made when chained together before he’d been shot and left.

 

“It...looks like he’s trying to get out.”  Rick sounded confused and a little curious.

 

“Think we should check it out?” Daryl tried to ignore the way the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

 

Rick nodded. “We’re out of canned goods. Need to look for some more supplies. I think we have to. Besides, there’s no walkers in there. They’d have been here by now with all the racket we’re making.”

 

That was true enough. Daryl took his knife handle and pounded on the wood of the doors a few times to be sure. He and Rick both cocked their heads, listening.  

 

Nothing.

 

They could hear Abraham and Rosita making noise several feet away, but nothing else that even hinted of a walker.  

 

Daryl pulled back to look at the chains on the doors, frowning.  “I don’t have anything to cut these open.”

 

“Me either. Maybe we can get rid of one of the pieces of wood?”

 

Daryl bent down and lifted the man’s dead body out of the way.  Animals had nibbled on his fingers, leaving the skin ragged and torn-looking. It made Daryl’s stomach lurch unpleasantly.  Rick used his knife to pry open part of the wood, and Daryl was able to use a flat rock to wedge it further open, far enough that he and Rick could get their fingers in it and start yanking. It took awhile, but eventually they managed to rip the nails from the frame.  From there it was easy enough to kick in the glass of the door.

 

The smell that assaulted them should have been familiar. Smell was not one of the senses that they tried to enjoy anymore. Smell told them that they stunk, that the walkers in front of them didn’t stop decomposing just because they’d up and decided to start walking around. The stench that rolled out of the building was like a punch both to the face and the balls; a quick one-two that left Daryl’s eyes stinging as he covered his face and nose with his arm.

 

After a while it subsided, or he got used to it. Or his nose just fucked off in disgust.

 

“You sure about this?” Daryl didn’t like to question Rick, but he couldn’t help the feeling of unease prickling up and down his spine.

 

“Gotta be sure, don’t we?”

 

Daryl knew what Rick was saying; what if? What if this was the place that had formula or diapers or something else they needed and they didn’t check? They weren’t naive enough to get their hopes up every time they searched a place, but sometimes they got lucky.

 

Rick started inside the doorway, ducking under the jagged pieces of wood. His utility belt scraped against the side of the door, and he had his gun out, ready in case of danger. There wasn’t much of a vestibule, and Daryl couldn’t see as well as Rick since the light was at his back, but he noticed that Rick had stopped short, freezing in place. Daryl hurried through the door, moving up to his customary place at Rick’s side, swinging his crossbow into a ready position.

 

Rick’s left hand shot out, gripping Daryl’s wrist with fingers that tightened into a shocking starburst of pain. Daryl froze at that touch, his eyes widening behind his ‘bow, the tip lowering to the floor in shock when the muscles in his arms all at once failed him.

 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Daryl whispered, horrified.

 

It was immediately apparent what had happened. The images tumbled into Daryl’s brain like one of those old flipbooks of photographs, each blazing in technicolor in the recesses of Daryl’s mind.

 

At first glance there had to be thirty bodies there.  Daryl’s brain started counting them as his gaze traveled over their tiny, emaciated frames. No. Not thirty. Twelve. They had been piled together, huddled under blanket.  

 

Two tiny forms were still holding hands.

 

The seconds ticked away as Rick and Daryl both stared and stared and stared, neither of them able to look away.

 

The man had been shot, not trying to escape as they had previously thought, but trying to get help. To try to help the people here. There were teenagers, kids and toddlers, all of which bore obvious signs of starvation.  How long had they been kept here?  And why? What had they been so terrified of that they had stayed instead of trying to get out?  But no...they had. Tried that was. Daryl could see that there were small, pathetic signs of attempted escape everywhere. The skylight let in light, and there were signs of things being thrown up at it, to let in rain maybe. Maybe to try to escape.  Every other window was heavily boarded up, although they had obviously tried to scrape their way out of the prison. Daryl was reminded of the man’s fingers, and his stomach lurched unpleasantly. Not animals then.

 

The only other adult was a woman, also horribly thin. She’d had long, blonde hair, and Daryl was forcibly reminded then of Beth’s hair matted in blood. The woman’s leg had been broken, and from the scraps wrapped around it, a splint had been hastily devised. It was easy enough to imagine the woman standing on the only large piece of furniture in the whole place - the desk. There were several mannequins and hangers strewn about, and some blankets and clothes, but nothing at all that could have been used to get out. Maybe’d she had tried to stand on the man’s shoulders, and had fallen.  Maybe she’d broken her leg someway else. Didn’t really matter. She’d had to have been in misery from the swelling and badly-healed break.

 

Rick made a small, hurt sound in the back of his throat, and Daryl jerked his gaze to what the other man was staring at. Rick’s fingers trembled on Daryl’s wrist, and he realized all at once that Rick was shaking, hanging onto Daryl not to punish, but using him as an anchor.

 

The woman had killed all the children. Maybe she’d held out as long as she could. Maybe she’d just refused to let them turn. Daryl could see the same, careful hole from the knife in the base of the little skulls, as though she’d gone to them in their sleep, one by one by one, quietly putting them out of their misery. She had scratched, ‘i’m sorry’ into the floor in front of her, before stabbing herself in the head.  

 

Daryl could picture the man waking up and seeing what she’d done, panicking and trying to get out. Or maybe him being killed was what had set her off; had made her realize that there was no escape from this.

 

“Jesus....”

 

Daryl hadn’t even heard Abraham climbing through the shattered doorway until his voice startled Daryl out of his frozen trance. Daryl twisted his fingers so that he was grabbing Rick’s wrist and yanked, pulling him from the room.  

 

There was nothing here they needed. Daryl’s heart was beating in a mad tattoo against his ribs. Rick had his own kids, and God knew what he was imagining right now. Daryl wanted to get Rick out of there, right the fuck now, before he saw something else, some other detail that would break him.

 

He pushed around Abraham, ignoring Rosita’s startled face as he yanked Rick through the door behind him, growing increasingly more worried that he _could_ yank Rick Grimes anywhere. That for sure wasn’t like him, not at all.

 

“What happened? What...”

 

Rick was shaking now, and Daryl just wanted to get him _away_. Daryl pushed him behind the snack bar, out of sight of the other two. He heard Abraham’s low voice, and Rosita’s shocked gasp, before he could ignore the two of them and focus just on Rick. He swung Rick by his wrist so that Rick’s back was against the surface of the building. Rick didn’t even seem to notice; his blue gaze far away, face bone-white with shock and reaction.

 

When Rick had torn out Joe’s throat, he’d been like this just after, shaking and covered in blood, shocked and horrified at what he’d done. Guilty and sick that Carl had witnessed it, and terrified at the knowledge that if they’d ever been in the same situation again, he’d do the exact same fucking thing.

 

Daryl got that. It made sense. And after Terminus, and Beth, he’d thought they’d seen just about the worst thing ever - the absolute dregs that what was left of humanity had to offer. But that? What they’d just seen in there?

 

Daryl didn’t think he’d had enough of a heart left to break. He only realized he was gasping for breath, damn near hyperventilating, when Rick’s gaze zeroed in on him. They stared, neither looking away for several minutes. Rick leaned forward, and for a second Daryl thought the other man was going to kiss him or something, before Rick bent his neck to rest his forehead on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl’s arms came around him on autopilot - not knowing or caring where this need to provide comfort came from, but helpless to stop himself from tightening his grip, only noticing that Rick was doing the same thing when he felt Rick’s cold hands against his shoulders, clutching him just as desperately as Daryl was clutching Rick.

 

It was a rough comfort.

 

Daryl felt Rick shaking almost uncontrollably. Or, maybe that was him. Daryl felt like the only real thing in the world was the heat of Rick’s body as it pressed against his.

 

There wasn’t anything he could do. He couldn’t go back and save them. He couldn’t make it okay. He couldn’t go back and keep Rick from seeing it, from adding to either of their nightmares.

 

All he could do was hold on.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the amazingly talented [ skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha) who is insane enough to look at this in its unbeta’d form.


	6. Illustration for chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Daryl didn’t think he’d had enough of a heart left to break. He only realized he was gasping for breath, damn near hyperventilating, when Rick’s gaze zeroed in on him. They stared, neither looking away for several minutes. Rick leaned forward, and for a second Daryl thought the other man was going to kiss him or something, before Rick bent his neck to rest his forehead on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl’s arms came around him on autopilot- not knowing or caring where this need to provide comfort came from, but helpless to stop himself from tightening his grip, only noticing that Rick was doing the same thing when he felt Rick’s cold hands against his shoulders, clutching him just as desperately as Daryl was clutching Rick."


	7. Keep on Keepin’ On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:**  
>  In What’s Happening and What’s Going On, they come across the vehicles quite a bit differently than what I’ve made up here. Just ah... er. Ignore that part.  
>  **Also TW:**  
>  For Canonical character death, and temporary endangerment of a minor: specifically, Judith. (Hint: It goes over about as well as you’d expect.) 

Rick had seen bad scenes before. With his job, of course he had. There were the domestic abuse cases, the aftermath of rape, of murder, of hate. He’d seen families that had made it out of burned homes with nothing but the clothes on their back, and families who had lost everyone because someone chose to check a text while driving. It was never easy. 

 

_ Especially _ when it involved kids. That never failed to add a new level of horror to the already tragic events. 

 

There were still things that haunted him. Seeing the meat dangling from the hooks at Terminus. Carl’s pale, terrified face as he struggled under the body of his attacker. The realization that the fat, obscenely bloated walker had eaten his dead wife. He’d thought that he’d been prepared for this. Well, not  _ this _ . Not seeing the senseless torture of those children, or the blonde woman’s pathetic appeal for forgiveness scratched into the floor. 

 

Daryl shifted and Rick realized with a sudden, stark clarity that he’d been clutching the other man to him, probably too hard. Definitely too desperately. Rick wasn’t sure when he had pushed his forehead into the juncture of Daryl’s neck and shoulder, but he forced himself to move back, to drop his manic clutch of Daryl’s back. Daryl let go of him a heartbeat later, and Rick found that he couldn’t quite meet Daryl’s gaze when the other man stepped back. 

 

It had been a minute at most. Simple comfort, but it had been exactly what he needed. Maybe what Daryl had needed too. Hard to imagine that someone like Daryl had needed something as simple as a hug from a friend. When Lori and Rick had first gotten married, there had been an old tomcat that had shown up at their door a few times. Lori had, of course, fed it, and the cat showed up a lot more after that. That cat would occasionally bring presents of birds or snakes and leave them at the door, but God help whoever tried to pet it. The only person it tolerated even a little had been Carl, and that was only because Carl usually came armed with turkey he’d sneak out of the fridge. Like that cat, Daryl wasn’t much for touching, normally. But Rick supposed this was horrific enough that it made sense. Rick pushed the fingers of both hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his galloping heart under control. 

 

Daryl wouldn’t meet his eyes as he turned away, his face creased in thought. 

 

“What?” Rick almost hated to ask, but he knew that he needed to. 

 

“Just- what if the people that could do that, what if they’re still...” He trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

 

Rick’s eyes widened. All thought of hugs or comfort vanished from his thoughts. “Shit!  _ Shit! _ ” Daryl, already three steps ahead of him, had already turned to whistle for Abraham and Rosita. 

 

Rick caught a glimpse of Abraham’s whey-colored face, and Rosita’s tear-filled eyes before he turned and started running back the way they came. Daryl ran right behind him, with Abraham and Rosita following only a few feet behind. 

 

There wasn’t time to talk. There wasn’t  _ breath _ to talk. There was only the snap of branches as the four of them crashed through the woods, following the lake back to the trail, the trail back to their campsite. Rick didn’t let him think of the fact that every single fucking thing they’d seen spoke of a trap of some sort; some kind of fucked up situation that they’d ignored for a few cans of food. He should have just listened to his instincts; the feeling of  _ this is wrong _ that had hung over the past hour like the stench of stale perfume. 

 

It was impossible to tell himself that Carl and Judith were fine, to trust that Michonne and Carol and Glenn and all his family had kept his own kids safe when he’d been the one who had run off. Rick might have known that on one level, but it was hard to remember when every instinct he had was screaming at him to hurry  _ hurry  _ **_hurry_ ** . 

 

They crashed through the woods, weapons at the ready.

 

...only to stop short at most of their group brandishing weapons in their direction. Michonne was at the front, katana at the ready. Sasha and Tyreese flanked her like particularly grim-looking bookends. Maggie, still looking pale and wan, stood with her gun braced with both hands, as though she was just looking for an excuse to blow someone’s head off. 

 

Rick bent over, with his hands on his knees, sucking in oxygen, hoping fervently that he would never have to run like that again, ever. Daryl took point, aiming with his crossbow before quickly lowering it once that he saw there was no danger. He didn’t even look like he was breathing hard, and Rick knew for a fact that Daryl still smoked. The feeling of relief he felt at seeing his people unharmed made Rick feel almost giddy. He was glad that he was bent over and holding his knees, because he was half-afraid he’d sink to the ground if he were standing upright. 

 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Rick? You guys sounded like a herd of walkers! We could have shot you before we saw you, you idiot.” Sasha glared at the four of them, lowering her weapon only when she saw that all four of them were safe. 

 

Rick was too busy reacquainting himself with oxygen to reply. 

 

Michonne lowered her weapon, frowning. “What happened?” She braced her shoulders for some kind of bad news, reaching behind her to sheath the katana without looking. 

 

Rick knew that he had a half second to decide what to tell them. He stalled, still sucking in air.

 

“Nothing. Whole thing was a wash.” Abraham’s voice was the low, frustrated growl they’d heard before, not giving away any of the horror they’d seen. He lied to Rick’s people without even a blink, and Rick allowed it. Encouraged it. Hell, if they never spoke of it again, he’d be perfectly content.

 

Michonne’s head tilted, eyebrow raised just slightly. Her gaze went to Rick, up to Abraham, down to Rosita, and over to Daryl. She didn’t say anything but Rick knew that she probably wasn’t fooled, even by the convincing lie. 

 

“We’ve got a bit of an issue here.” Sasha switched on the safety on her rifle, before turning and jerking her thumb over her shoulder in a ‘back there’ gesture. Rick straightened and raised his eyebrows, knowing they’d tell him. 

 

“Couple of kids. Two of ‘em. Girl, maybe seventeen or so and a kid. Roughly eight. Stumbled onto camp.” Rick frowned at Tyreese’s words, staring through the big man as he thought. He could tell that they’d invited the two kids inside the cabin, which told him that they were fairly harmless. If Michonne had let someone inside with Carl and Judith, let alone Eugene, Gabriel or the still-hurt Carol, she must trust that they weren’t a threat. 

 

“Let’s go meet them, then.” Rick forced himself to push the scene from earlier out of his head, walking towards the door of the cabin with firm, purposeful strides that didn’t quite feel honest. He felt like he was putting on an act- which was fair. Rick  _ was _ putting on an act. He just hoped that he’d be able to continue the farce; it wouldn’t do for that to show up in his nightmares. God knew they all had enough of those. 

 

The door opened without a sound, and Glenn jumped before staring at Rick like he hadn’t seen him before. Rick’s eyes drifted over the adults in the room, but he froze in shock when he caught sight of the kids.

 

Rick was half-afraid he’d made some sound. His boy, who over the past months had both been withdrawn and so moody at times that Rick hadn’t even recognized him, only coming back to himself when he’d been given the task of keeping Judith safe was  _ smiling _ . The older girl had long, black hair, braided and looped up into a bun. Her face was oval-shaped and her pale skin had just the faintest hint of a blush to it. (either from the giggles she’d been hiding in her hand, or the heat from the fire, Rick wasn’t sure.) Noah had been in the process of saying something else to both Carl and the girl, his brown eyes fairly sparkling with mischief. The younger girl, who also had short black hair, played peekaboo with Judith.

 

After what they’d seen not even a half an hour ago, and the terror of running through the woods, absolutely convinced that they had been lured away towards a trap this seemed almost jarring, and Rick found himself blinking a few times just taking in the scene. He met Carol’s gaze, who shrugged and looked back down to her sewing. 

 

“Dad!” Carl scrambled up, pushing his hat back out of his way so that he could meet Rick’s eyes. 

 

The effect on the two girls was instantaneous. Both went from having their guards down to almost cowering away, moving back out of Rick’s reach. The tall girl’s eyes widened in fear, her hands going to her hip for the small knife she wore. The youngest girl drew even further back behind her companion, trying instinctively to make herself as little of a target as possible. The tension in the room reached an almost tangible level, with everyone staring at everyone else, waiting for someone to make the first move. 

 

Rick held up both of his hands, placatingly. “Michonne. Maggie,” he said, knowing that the sight of Tyreese or Daryl would send the girls into a panic. No one asked questions, both women making their way to Rick’s sides, flanking him. 

 

“I’m sorry to startle you. My name is Rick, and this is my family. You’ve already met Carl, Judith, and Carol.” Rick kept his voice calm, not wanting to spook either one of them more than he already had. 

 

“Hey.” Carl moved, edging slightly away from the two girls. “Hey, it’s okay. Really. That’s my dad. He keeps everyone safe.” 

 

Rick’s heart gave a funny sort of wobble at Carl’s faith in him. 

 

“I’m sorry to have startled you. We’re gonna move out of the way, and you two can go if you want.” Rick kept his voice a soft, steady drawl. “But I wish you wouldn’t go. We have fish, and plenty of water. You can stay with us for the night if you need to rest, and we’ll help. But only if you want to.” 

 

Rick couldn’t actually think of the last time he’d made a split-second decision like this, trusting someone around his family without vetting them first. Maybe Michonne, when she’d shown up at the prison gates, obviously spooked but holding Judith’s formula. He did what he said he’d do though, moving away from the cabin door, back towards the bedroom where he and Daryl had slept. Carl had scooped up Judith and had also moved back into the kitchenette area, Noah following him, looking completely confused but knowing that now was not the time to ask questions. 

 

Maggie smiled at the two girls. “I know you don’t know me, but it’s okay. I promise. Come on now, come get some food.” 

 

Michonne stayed silent, but turned so that she wasn’t blocking the cabin’s doors. 

 

The tall girl grabbed the younger girl’s hand and walked out of the cabin, still obviously trembling. Rick hoped to god that the others had scattered when they’d heard him talk, or the girls would be spooked again. He moved so that he could watch them walk, trailing far enough behind them so that he wouldn’t spook them again. 

 

Rick really, really didn’t want to think of what these two kids had had to go through to get to this point. It couldn’t possibly have been a good story- not with as obviously terrified as they were. They stopped by the picnic tables, and Rick saw the tall girl take a deep, nervous breath before turning and leading her younger friend to the wooden surface. 

 

She turned around, still keeping her muscles tensed so that she could run if she needed to. She huffed a breath and turned back to face Rick. 

 

“I’m Emma, and this is my sister, Hannah. Yes... some food would be great. We’re both really hungry. Some people broke into our camp not too long ago, and we lost everything.” 

 

With that, the tension broke. Daryl and Abraham moved towards the lake, probably to smoke. Rosita made a beeline to where Eugene was sitting by the ruined cabin, fiddling with something that looked like a radio. Gabriel lay down beside him, looking up into the cloudless sky, clearly ignoring everything that was happening around him. 

 

Inside the cabin, Noah moved towards the campfire, where they had cooked several fish for anyone who wanted to eat their fill. He quickly served several pieces onto two chipped plates and almost tripped as he moved outside to give the two girls the food. 

 

Rick cautiously moved outside. Michonne gave him a tight look and a shrug, and Rick nodded back. “You mind if I sit down here?” He indicated the table near them, not wanting to inflict his presence on them after they had finally relaxed a little. Noah set the two plates down, and the scent of freshly baked fish wafted out. It always broke Rick’s heart a little to see kids eat like they were on the brink of starvation, stuffing meat into their faces without actually tasting it. Emma and Hannah were no exception, easily eating five fish between the two of them. 

 

It sucked. It sucked  _ hard _ but that was the world they lived in now. Rick wasn’t entirely sure how two kids had managed to survive this long by themselves, but didn’t feel right pushing. Not now. Maybe once they felt more comfortable around him. 

 

Rick turned away so that he was looking out at the lake. The lodge still looked the same, but somehow to Rick’s gaze it seemed more sinister now that he knew what secrets it held. He’d have to make sure that Abraham and Rosita were on the same page as him. Rick knew that Daryl would be. The four of them had no reason to tell the others what had happened. 

 

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in relative calm. Maggie still cried a lot, and kept to herself. Glenn’s throat often worked as though he was trying to find something to tell her that would make things less horrible, but they all knew there was nothing to say on that score. The five kids, including both Noah and Emma, had managed to find an old painter’s tub and were using it to give Judith a bath. Judith approved mightily of this, and managed to drench the four helpers without even trying all that hard. They didn’t have any soap, but the warm water was a nice change. All of them took turns with the bucket, spot washing where they could, none of them quite ready to strip off and go skinny-dipping in the lake. It just wasn’t safe, no matter how many walkers they hadn’t seen. 

 

None of them really felt up to telling stories around the campfire, so they turned in fairly quickly. Rick took watch with Abraham, both of whom spent the better part of the night avoiding each other while their people caught what sleep they could. 

  
  


***

 

The next morning had all of them loading into the cars. They’d eaten so much fish that everyone was almost a little  _ too _ full, and the group had drank enough boiled lake water that dehydration wasn’t a worry. Between all of them, they had the painter’s bucket full of boiled water, and three plastic water bottles. They had a few blankets and pillows, but the mattresses were just going to take up too much room. Each of them had split what supplies they had, distributing them among the few of them that had backpacks. 

 

Rick was driving. Daryl rode shotgun, and Carol, Carl, Judith and Eugene had all squeezed into the backseat of the sedan. 

 

“Not sure I’m gonna miss this place.” Rick frowned, staring at the cabin that had seemed so promising when they’d found it. It took a few minutes for the rest of their group to pile into the white van. The newest members of their group were content to squeeze into the very back of the vehicle, while everyone else kind of sat where they could fit. 

 

“Yeah.” Daryl stared out the window, his left hand wrapped around his wrist. Rick’s eyes narrowed as he saw the finger-like bruises. He was surprised at the feeling of rage that swamped him at the marks on Daryl’s tanned skin. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as they headed north, following the van.

 

He’d actually opened his mouth to say something, before the realization that  _ he _ had been the person to hurt Daryl slammed into him like a truck. Rick couldn’t hide the shocked breath. 

 

Daryl raised his eyebrow in his direction, but Rick just shook his head, ashamed of himself. 

 

“Did you happen to decide on a destination?” Carol’s voice was much more subdued than her normal pre-Grady speaking voice. “I don’t much care, but it would help to... have something to work towards, don’t you think?” 

 

Rick had to swallow twice before he could speak. Shame was like some thick, greasy film in the back of his throat. He wanted to apologize to Daryl, to ask for forgiveness. 

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Daryl wouldn’t want him to acknowledge what he’d done in his horror and panic, and he for damn sure wouldn’t want Rick to bring it to anyone else’s attention. 

 

Rick swallowed. “Honestly, I don’t know. We’re heading north, just because there ain’t a damn thing for us south. Since we’re not going to DC anymore...” 

 

Eugene seemed to shrink in his seat. 

 

“... I’m not sure. I think we need a place to... regroup. Someplace defensible, where we can catch our breath.” 

 

Daryl snorted, pulling out a small knife to clean under his nails. “We could head out west. Kid’s got the hat.” The joke was completely unexpected, and the almost palpable feeling of hysteria caused them all to laugh. 

 

“Well, right now, we’re headed slightly northwest. Cornelia, I think. There’s a few towns up around there before we get into the foothills of the Chattahoochee National, and if everything’s been cleared out like it was around the lake, we should be able to get some supplies, at the very least.” 

 

“Shame that lodge didn’t work out.” Carl bounced Judith on his knee, lifting her up and sniffing her diaper. He wrinkled his nose then handed her to a very startled Eugene. Rick watched in the rearview mirror as his daughter and Eugene stared each other down, Eugene holding Judith away from him like she was a bomb ready to go off. “You said it was empty?” He rummaged in Judith’s diaper bag and got what he needed, quickly changing and cleaning his sister. He had it down to a science, and Judith didn’t seem to be bothered as she was moved to Carol’s legs, grabbing Carol’s fingers and waving it around seriously, as though she wanted to be part of the conversation.

 

“Yeah.” Daryl’s low voice was more like a growl as he answered Carl’s question. “It was a dead place. Best to do our own thing, like before.” He put the knife away, and tapped his hands on his knees, absently, looking out the passenger-side window. 

 

There wasn’t much to say to that.

 

They drove for several hours, until they found a town with enough stalls that they could siphon gas. Rick thought, and Tyreese agreed, that taking the smaller roads usually meant that they had a better chance of not running into any trouble, but it also meant that there were fewer supplies in stalled or wrecked cards. It was a trade off; clearing cars out of their way was a complete pain in the ass. 

 

The van honked its horn with two quick beeps, their signal for need to stop, no emergency, and Rick went ahead and pulled over. Eugene and Carl looked up from their reading, jarred out of their little world. Eugene handed back Carl’s Dr. Strange comics, and Carl shoved his copy of  _ American Gods _ into his backpack. Carol and Judith both blinked sleepily awake. 

 

“Hang on. I’ll check it out with you.” Daryl grabbed his crossbow and Rick slid out of the driver’s seat. 

 

At first glance, the sleepy Georgia town looked innocuous enough. Whatever governmental entity that had evacuated Lanier looked to have made it up here. The buildings bore signs of looting and had that empty quality that most places sported these days. Glenn and Tyreese both ran up to Rick and Daryl, everyone else spilling quietly out of the van to stretch and try to wake up a little. The stall in the front was a large, blue GMC van that looked to have plowed over a tiny Toyota Tercel. The walker in the Tercel pressed its face against the glass, trying to get to its meal, but was secure enough that they could ignore it. 

 

“We could fit more people in that bad boy.” Glenn jerked his head towards the GMC truck, and Rick nodded. It was bigger, and sported quite a bit more room than the Grady sedan that they had stolen. 

 

“Get some help checking it out.” Rick scratched his eyebrow. 

 

Daryl started walking towards the GMC truck, slinging his crossbow over his back. Rick had never needed to ask what he did before all this, but whenever there was something with an engine to be done, Daryl was the first to handle it. 

 

Rick turned to the group now milling outside of the van. “Eugene and Abraham, why don’t you guys see about fuel. Rosita, Tara, Glenn and Michonne, how about you come with me to check out this side of the street, and the rest of ya can take--”

 

“Ahh!  _ Shit _ !” 

 

Rick jerked his head around, his heart in his throat at the sound of Daryl’s shout. Rick began running towards Daryl before he quite realized what was happening, pulled towards him by the uncharacteristic panic of the cry. Rick skidded around the truck’s bumper to see that the other end of the Tercel had been ripped open, and the walker inside was in the process of crawling through the hole. Daryl was on his back on the concrete, holding one of the freshly dead away from his head, trying to duck and weave out of the way of the snarling, snapping jaws. Rick blinked, then pulled his Colt and fired, habit taking over. The walker on top of Daryl collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, allowing Daryl enough time to reach for his knife, ready to stab the one from the Tercel through the eye. 

 

In all, it took maybe twenty seconds, but Rick’s heartrate didn’t calm down until Daryl roughly pushed the dead body off of him, wiping the blood and brain matter off of his face. He held up his wrist, shaking out his fingers like they were numb. “Damn, that hurts. Kept me from getting to my crossbow in time. I landed on my back too; betcha I have to restring the damn thing again.” 

 

“Is... it broken?” Rick’s stomach lurched unpleasantly with guilt, staring at Daryl’s bruised wrist. He swallowed, hard.

 

“No. M’fine. Just a little numb.” 

 

The rest of their group came pounding up, forming a loose circle around Daryl and Rick, as Daryl stood up, swinging his bow around to his front and frowning down at it. Rick heard him mutter under his breath but ignored it, turning back around to scan the woods and the main drag of the small town. The gunshot would bring anything still around this area, but even with the echo, there didn’t look to be nothing much moving. 

 

Once everyone’s adrenaline calmed down somewhat, they broke into groups. Rick felt a little bad about forcing Abraham and Eugene to work together (and the raised-eyebrows look Rosita gave him pretty much made him feel like a dick) but the two did what he needed them to do, grimly without any talking. It took a while, but they got the blue GMC to work. It helped that Daryl knew what to do to fix it. The town had a few canned goods, but nothing too spectacular, other than an atlas that was only water-logged a tiny bit on the bottom edge. 

 

With no particular direction in mind,they all decided to make it to the next larger town, unless they saw another farm or the like to hole up for the night. Now with three vehicles, people were much more comfortable. When they stopped for the night, the fact that the GMC truck had a pair of walkie-talkies stashed under the seat made the night seem less bleak. 

 

They went ahead and built a larger fire, using the vehicles to shade the glow of the flames. The nights were quite a bit cooler up north now. (He couldn’t swear to it, but Rick was pretty sure that they’d crossed from South Carolina into North Carolina not too far back, although the state line tended to blur a bit on the back roads.) Noah had his windbreaker, and he sat on the back of the white van, staring into the flames with his arms crossed in front of him. He looked utterly miserable. Rick sat down beside him, grateful for his coat, but knowing if Noah shivered one more time he’d be handing it over.

 

They were quiet for a few minutes, and Rick gave Noah his space, not pushing. The two of them hadn’t had a chance to really gel yet, not with everything that had gone on. Emma and Hannah were stretched out in the bed of the truck, whispering lowly together. Daryl had given them his blanket and they looked like they were set for the night. 

 

“She was gonna come with me.” Noah’s voice was soft as he watched the dancing flames. Rick caught his breath, the guilt of Beth’s death hitting him hard in the gut like it always did, but knowing that this kid was feeling its pull more deeply than any of them. 

 

“To your people?” 

 

Noah nodded, ducking his head. Rick politely ignored the few tears that trickled out of the teenager’s eyes and took a deep breath. 

 

“How far?” 

 

Rick watched Noah’s face, as the quick spurt of hope drifted over his features, obvious even in the low light from the fire. Noah turned his head to stare at Rick, who shook his own head a little, staring as Carol held Judith. She was trying to get his baby girl to eat some of the squirrel that Daryl had shot earlier, but Judith was having none of it. 

 

“Outside Richmond, Virginia.” 

 

Rick nodded to himself, knowing what he was going to do before he did it. A destination was better than aimlessly wandering around, waiting for inspiration to strike. 

 

“And you want to go there, check it out?” 

 

Noah’s whole body froze in shock. The tiny spark of hope on the boy’s face blossomed into something that hurt Rick to look at, but he was willing to give it a try

 

“I’ll run it by everyone in the morning. Get some sleep, okay?” 

 

Noah sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket, his smile bright in the darkness. Rick nodded again, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Judith was sniffling now, sounding like her whole world was ending. Rick crossed to the other side of the fire, taking her from Carol. Judith looked at Rick with huge, tear-filled eyes, her bottom lip trembling a little. She rested her head on his collarbone, and Rick’s heart turned over with love at the sweet baby-scent.

 

“What’s the matter, baby girl, hmm?”

 

Carol snorted. “Nothing. Those are dad tears, although we  _ are _ on our last container of formula. You know that she’s got you pretty well tied around her little finger, right?” Carol smirked then her eyes narrowed at someone moving just behind Rick’s peripheral vision. “And you! Don’t think I didn’t see you hiding that wrist of yours. Sit down, Daryl.”

 

Daryl snorted and Rick couldn’t help the way he froze a little.

 

“Ain’t nothin. Just a little--”

 

Carol’s eyes narrowed to something that made Rick’s balls crawl a little closer to his body for safety. Even bruised as she was, when she snapped her fingers and pointed to the log next to her, using that particular tone of voice Rick knew that no one was about to argue. 

 

Not even Daryl Dixon.

 

Looking more than a bit put out, Daryl flopped down on the log, holding out his arm with poor grace. Carol clucked a little under her breath as she moved his wrist back and forth, and Rick tried not to stare too obviously. “It’s a bit swollen. Wish we had some ice,” she said, frowning. 

 

Daryl just shrugged. 

 

Judith batted at Rick’s nose, and Rick looked down at her, grateful for the distraction. It wasn’t like him to keep feeling like this, going over and over something that had happened in his mind. Once, while cleaning out the tombs at the prison, Rick had had to shove Glenn to safety, and the younger man’s knees had been scraped to shit on the concrete. Rick hadn’t gone over it over and over and fuckin  _ over _ like this in his his mind, until he was sick to death of thinking about it. It had been an accident, and Daryl said he was fine. 

 

Daryl was  _ fine _ . 

 

There was no reason for this sort of... guilt. 

 

Tara leaned forward and stirred up the embers of the fire and Rick noticed that while he’d been brooding, most of his strange little family had gone off to sleep in cars. Carol, since she was still suffering from bruised ribs (although if you asked her, she was also Just Fine) had been threatened into taking the front seat of the sedan. Michonne took shotgun, the two women sharing body heat under one of the blankets. Carl and Judith got the backseat with another blanket. 

 

Abraham and Rosita had taken the GMC, and no one quite wanted to invade their privacy, going by the fogged-up windows. Noah had shut the white van’s doors and had taken one of the bench seats, with Eugene in the passenger’s seat. 

 

It was Gabriel’s turn for watch, which Rick didn’t quite trust, so he had volunteered himself for guard duty tonight. Daryl had yet to go to bed, although it was a toss-up to see if he was going to bunk down outside in front of the fire, or go into the empty seat in the van. 

 

Rick walked around a good bit, listening as always for the stumbling step of a walker. The further north they’d gotten, the more walker activity they’d found. It was kind of strange to embrace that sense of normalcy; not having the bastards around underfoot all the damn time had been just bizarre enough that it made all of them hyperaware of the danger they were in on a day-to-day basis. Now they were back to the safety protocols they’d drilled into existence while going from place to place. 

 

Rick pinched his eyebrows, huffing a silent breath. The fact of the matter was that if they didn’t find shelter soon, they’d be in lot of trouble. It wasn’t winter yet- barely fall, although it wasn’t like Rick knew what day it was for sure, but not having a place to call their own was going to be a problem. 

 

He would not let his family suffer for his mistakes, as compounded as they were. All Rick had to do was look at Maggie to see what failure looked like. 

 

Eventually, the house passed and Sasha and Daryl took watch, so Rick and Gabriel could sleep. 

 

***

 

Later, when Rick looked back on that clusterfuck of a day, there were several things that stood out to him as  _ wrong.  _

 

Daryl hadn’t gone with them. Rick couldn’t really blame him; and it was smart to have Daryl take a day to rest after keeping watch the night before. Rick was tired himself, but he could ignore it in favor of the chance of Noah’s community. Twenty people was a lot. Twenty people who would probably be grateful to Rick and his group for saving Noah’s life... was worth a lot more. He hadn’t thought too much about splitting the party into two groups- Noah, Tyreese, Michonne, Glenn and himself, and leaving the rest to look for supplies in a nearby town. 

 

Glenn had refused to meet Noah’s eyes, his gaze skittering away from the younger man’s like a roach evading sudden light. Rick had felt it then- a punch to the gut that made his throat tighten in anger and worry for the briefest second, before he’d followed Noah up and over the fence of the property, gaze stuck on not the sobbing Noah that Tyreese tried to comfort, but the suddenly fragile face of Michonne as she looked out around her at the destruction, her voice trembling as she went to take out her sadness on the lone walker shambling towards them. Rick had tried, the pitiful “I’m sorry” not doing much to make either one of them feel better. Truthfully, Rick had been glad for the excuse of going to check the rest of the community. Maybe that made him a dick, but Tyreese was better at all that emotional shit. Tyreese had looked like he had Noah’s grief well in hand. Telling Carol that the place was gone; that they had failed before they’d even had a chance to begin just  _ hurt. _

 

Noah’s cry of his name, the sound of him screaming for Glenn and Michonne had forced Rick to act, to bully forward like he knew what was in store. And in a way, he did. Parts of the next few minutes stuck out: pulling the walkers off of Glenn and slicing into the walker who had Michonne with his machete, but the words “It’s Tyreese. He’s been bit” made Rick stumble. Whatever confidence he had, whatever  _ hope _ he had been feeling in deciding that Washington might hold some dregs of a chance for him and for his family left him cold and unsure.

 

It was Glenn and Michonne who reacted faster, who moved with purpose. Maybe there was time. Maybe they’d be able to save Tyreese if they acted quickly enough. 

 

But Maybes never seemed to work for him. 

 

_ Maybe _ left Tyreese’s legs tangled in the barbed wire.  _ Maybe _ caused the belt, slippery with blood, to shift on the stump of Tyreese’s arm.  _ Maybe _ had Rick stopping the truck in the middle of the road when Tyreese whispered, ‘S’okay. Turn it off,’ obviously hallucinating out of his damn mind. Rick might have screamed at him, or screamed because of him. It really didn’t matter. The big man’s solid, trunk-like chest inhaled on one last juddering breath... and held. His fingers released their grip on Glenn’s hand, and... nothing. 

 

_ Maybe _ wouldn’t help him with explaining to Sasha how he’d managed to let her brother die on his watch. 

 

For several minutes the only sound in the truck was the sound of Noah, Glenn and Michonne’s gasping breaths. Rick couldn’t stand it. He jumped out of the truck, bending almost in half to ruck his fingers through his hair. He was dimly aware of someone in the truck sniffling, and of the sick sound of a knife ensuring that Tyreese would not rise as a walker. 

 

Rick blinked, and all of the sudden he was aware of the buzz of insects and the forlorn sound of birds, perched watchfully on the trees lining either side of the road. A curious walker, drawn either by the sound of the vehicle or the scent of their humanity snarled and staggered out of the woods. Rick found himself hacking at it with a silent snarl of rage, his eyes wet with regret and despondency until its skull was just another mangled stain on the pavement. 

 

“Rick? Come in... Rick?” 

 

Rick froze. 

 

Two things hit him at once. The first was- when he had first screamed into the walkie for Carol to have a fire ready so they could cauterize Tyreese’s wound.... _she_ _hadn’t_ _replied_. 

 

The second was that whatever had happened to cause Eugene to sound like that- high pitched with both terror and nerves meant that Rick needed to get the fuck back to the camp...  _ now _ . 

 

He whirled, staring at a pale Glenn who held the walkie-talkie with shaking fingers. Rick wasn’t the only person who had someone back at the camp, and he would do well to remember that. They weren’t far, but each minute seemed like an hour as Rick jumped into the truck, slamming the door as Michonne hit the gas. He lifted Tyreese’s unresting boot heels and slid under them, hanging on as the truck lurched. 

 

“What do you--?”

 

Noah’s voice was gritty with nerves. Rick ignored him, yanking the walkie out of Glenn’s hands. “Eugene? Come back!” There was nothing- only the sound of static. “Carol?” Rick swallowed hard, willing Michonne to drive faster. The engine sputtered as she pushed the gas pedal to the floor, going as fast as she could. All of them had picked up on Rick’s nervousness, and coming off Tyreese’s death seemed to be hyper-focused on getting back to camp. 

 

They pulled into the little driveway they’d been holed up in with enough adrenaline that Rick didn’t even remember twisting his ankle when he jumped out of the still-moving vehicle. He was met by Carol who was crying freely- eyes streaming as she raised one placatingly, the other curled protectively over her bruised ribs. 

 

“She’s fine. She’s  _ fine _ , Rick.” 

 

She? 

 

_ Judith _ ! 

 

He stepped around Carol, who stumbled into Glenn’s arms. Judith's screams were completely unnatural. Judith  _ never _ cried like that. Carol was crying more obviously now, sucking in breath after breath, almost hyperventilating. Rick practically tore the door off the hinges, getting inside of the small farmhouse. 

 

Daryl stood in the center of the room, dabbing a wet cloth on Judith’s face. He held her cradled in his arms protectively, like he could physically keep anything bad from touching her if he just held her carefully enough. Daryl turned, catching Rick’s eyes with his own, wide and a little panicked. Rick was at Daryl’s side in a heartbeat, almost snatching Judith out of his friend’s arms. Her tiny face had a small scrape on it. Rationally, Rick knew that a head wound bled more than anything else ever seemed to, but there was so much blood on his baby daughter’s face that he was having problems breathing. The mental memory of the walker he’d turned into mush flashed in his head, followed by the tiny knife wounds on the children back at the lake. 

 

“What happened? You were supposed to keep her  _ safe!” _

 

Daryl reacted like Rick had slapped him, pulling back and shutting down almost immediately.  _ That  _ was enough for Rick to realize what he’d just said and reach out his hand towards the other man in apology. “Shit.  _ Shit _ , man I didn’t mean that.” 

 

Daryl just shrugged, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than here, but his eyes darkened as he stared at Judith’s forehead. 

 

Rick tried to calm down, realizing that everyone was panicking just slightly with reaction of whatever had happened here. He turned to Abraham, who was watching the drama without expression. “What happened?”

 

“Those two girls. You know how they said their camp had been taken over? Well, guess who took it over? Probably were too scared to attack us. While you lot were gone they tried to make a break for it, taking your girl, most of our damn extra weapons and supplies and the car. Daryl there must have scared the everlovin’ fuck out of them when he ran after them, and about fifty feet from the driveway they slowed down, tossed your girl out into a pile of leaves and drove off like the hounds of hell were after ‘em.” 

 

Rick gaped at him, stupidly. He turned to Daryl who spoke low and tight, his words like bullets. 

 

“Carol was playin’ in the front yard with Jude when you came in on the walkie. It was enough of a distraction that they could hit Carol in the side, playin’ it off like an accident. Carol couldn’t scream, but managed to yell for me. The younger one had already gathered up our stuff and was waiting in the car, while the other one shot at us a few times and ducked into the front seat with Judith.” 

 

Rick sagged down to the ground, still trying to get Judith to calm down. She was having none of it; she was hurt and wanted everyone to damn well know it. 

 

Rick’s head swam with too much information. He knew that they had stuff to do, so much to discuss, and reconsider. This had only served to hit them while they were already down. In only a few days they’d lost two of their own, one of which they still had to bury so quickly after the other. They’d seen atrocities that shouldn’t ever have to happen, and they’d almost had Judith taken from them. It was only luck that Emma hadn’t accidently shot either Judith in her arms or one of his people in her mad bid for escape from the people that had stolen from her and her sister. Luck had held when she’d tossed Judith onto the side of the road like trash- there was so much wrong with that that Rick didn’t quite know what to parse together first. 

 

Luck and heartbreak. 

 

Heartbreak and luck.

 

As Rick held his sobbing daughter to his shoulder, he looked around at the exhausted and heart-sore faces of the people that looked to him for guidance. Heartbreak and luck would only get them so far...

 

... and Rick had a feeling that their luck was about to give out. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the amazingly talented [ skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha) who is insane enough to look at this in its unbeta’d form.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I am so, so sorry that I didn't post yesterday. I can give you lots of excuses, but what it boils down to is that I was too heart-heavy. I would start, then stop, then distract myself with a possibly unhealthy amount of Johnlock fic. Anyway. That sounds overdramatic to mourn two men that I never had the chance to meet, but there you have it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this story so far! :)


	8. Illustration for chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Daryl stood in the center of the room, dabbing a wet cloth on Judith’s face. He held her cradled in his arms protectively, like he could physically keep anything bad from touching her if he just held her carefully enough. Daryl turned, catching Rick’s eyes with his own, wide and a little panicked. Rick was at Daryl’s side in a heartbeat, almost snatching Judith out of his friend’s arms. Her tiny face had a small scrape on it. Rationally, Rick knew that a head wound bled more than anything else ever seemed to, but there was so much blood on his baby daughter’s face that he was having problems breathing. The mental memory of the walker he’d turned into mush flashed in his head, followed by the tiny knife wounds on the children back at the lake. "


	9. So Lonely (You Could Die)

**TW:** Descriptions of canonical self-harm, descriptions of (unacknowledged) panic attacks and PTSD. Some dialogue from Episode 5x10, _Them_.

  


**Chapter 5- So Lonely (You Could Die)**

 

The sound of the shovel hitting the dirt of Tyreese’s grave sounded too loud. Daryl’s headache throbbed behind his left cheekbone, feeling like an overripe and rotten fruit. He couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of surreality that permeated everything around him. Gabriel was finally speaking, giving a sermon that sounded hollow to all of them. The words were just... words. There wasn’t any comfort in what the priest said. Daryl wasn’t exactly a religious expert, but he was pretty fucking sure that if God existed he was having a huge laugh at Gabriel’s expense. Sasha was obviously broken. Losing Bob was bad enough, but losing her brother extinguished whatever spark she had left. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t do much of anything. The two girls had taken their food and most of their water, so there wasn’t much _for_ Sasha to eat, but when she did eat it was sporadic and uninterested.

 

Daryl recognized the actions of someone going through the motions.

 

Maggie cried almost nonstop. After they’d taken Tyreese out of the backseat of the GMC truck, Maggie had taken one look at Sasha’s face and started grimly cleaning up the blood that had leaked everywhere. It had taken her several hours, and she’d used all of the bucket of water to do it. None of them had had the heart to stop her, not when they were all still shocked at the suddenness of Tyreese’s death. Afterward, she’d just fallen to her knees and sobbed. She’d pushed away everyone: Glenn, Rick, even Michonne. Noah was beyond distraught; despair and guilt warring for first place in his reaction. It was one thing to think your family _might_ be dead. It was quite another to come face to face with the grim reality. He’d heard Glenn whispering to Carol that he’d not only had to put down his own brother, but it was Noah’s brother who had bitten Tyreese. Noah couldn’t even look Sasha in the eyes. He just cried and cried until he was as empty as Sasha looked.

 

Daryl was kind of jealous of Noah and Maggie. Even of Sasha, during the one time she’d let herself break- she’d put her brother’s stocking cap on top of his cross, her stoicism had cracked, a sobbing breath almost causing her to burst into tears. He envied them that release.

 

Daryl couldn’t cry. He couldn’t get angry. He _could_ swallow guilt until he was sick with it though. He didn’t fault Rick for saying what he’d said in the small farmhouse; how could he? Daryl’d had literally one task while Rick took Noah to Shirewilt, and that was to keep Rick’s family _safe_. Carol had been hurt again when the girl had kicked her, causing a distraction. Oh Carol didn’t show that it hurt, but Daryl knew her well enough that he could tell. All Daryl had to do was look at the scab on Judith’s forehead and the knowledge of how much he’d let Rick down flooded him.

 

They’d all taken turns burying Tyreese, as though they were sharing the guilt of his death. Rick had finished it, furiously shoveling the displaced dirt onto the hole they’d dug for Tyreese’s body. Did Rick feel guilt? Did he look down at Tyreese’s grave and remember when, while at the prison, Rick had beaten the big man so badly that he couldn’t see properly? Daryl didn’t know- mostly because since Rick had snatched his daughter out of Daryl’s arms (rightfully. Daryl didn’t blame him for any of that.) he and Rick had not said two words to one another.

 

“Sasha?”

 

Rick’s low voice was strangely tentative as he touched her elbow. Sasha looked up at him with dead eyes. Rick moved slowly, cautiously drawing the brittle-seeming woman into a hug.

 

Daryl’s throat tightened as he stood up and turned away. He vividly remembered his and Rick’s brief moment of contact after they’d seen the dead kids and how fucking peaceful he’d felt for those few seconds. He was absolutely disgusted with himself for envying Sasha that same comfort.

 

Sasha didn’t react, blinking slowly as she stood straight ahead, staring at her brother’s grave marker.

 

Rick didn’t seem fazed- he nodded as though it was about what he had expected, then he ducked his head. “We’re gonna head out when you’re ready. No rush though. We’re good here for--”

 

“No. I’m ready.” Sasha’s voice did not waver with expected tears. “Let’s go.”

 

Daryl immediately moved to grab the atlas and his mostly empty backpack. Between all of them, they had three water bottles of water. Everyone had their weapons, but the extras that Rick had dragged with him since Terminus and before had been lost. They had the shovel and a zippo lighter Tara had shoved into an old ziptop bag. A few of them had windbreakers or jackets, most of which were tied around their waists. The food was looking pretty dire. Judith had half a can of formula, and between all fourteen of them they had seven packets of oatmeal and whatever the hell Daryl could kill on the road.

 

Rick whistled and people moved started to get their own personal belongings together. It didn’t take too long. Daryl grabbed his bow and made his way to the van. Abraham gave him a weird look, but Daryl didn’t respond.

 

“Hey, Dad? Have you seen my book?” Carl scratched his forehead under the hat. “I’ve looked for it everywhere. I don’t care if someone borrowed it but I was, like, only about twenty pages from the end.”

 

Michonne’s eyes narrowed. “My toiletries bag is missing too. Not that there was much in there but I hate not havin’ any damn toothpaste.”

 

Rosita sucked her teeth. “Those two- _Jesus_. Robbed us blind!” She slapped at the white van’s sliding door in irritation, and Daryl tried not to wince too obviously. Instead he had to stop himself from grinding his teeth in frustration at the realization that the two kids probably wouldn't have even joined up with them if Daryl hadn't agreed to it.

 

Rick’s mouth tightened behind his beard. Nothing else was said- nothing else _needed_ to be said.

 

They all piled into the two vehicles and began driving north, following smaller roads. Noah’s community had been northwest of Richmond, and according to the atlas, they were only 100 miles or so from DC.

 

“Hold on to your dicks,” Abraham muttered, pulling out behind Michonne. No one in the van responded.

 

The most privacy Daryl could claim for himself was by riding shotgun and staring out the window instead of sitting where anyone would naturally want to strike up a conversation, which he wasted no time in doing. He caught a glimpse of Sasha, who clearly had absolutely no interest in riding in the GMC truck (after what had happened to her brother- Daryl couldn’t exactly blame her), press her shaky fingers against the glass in a final farewell to her brother. Sasha’s lips trembled once as she stared out of the window at his grave and grave marker before she forced herself back into blankness. It looked like her eyes were about to spill over with tears, but Daryl didn’t figure that he had much of a chance in hell of saying anything that would comfort the woman, despite the fact that he too lost a brother to all this crazy shit. If he tried, there was a good damn chance that it would come out all wrong- some awkward, cringe-worthy attempt.

 

What the fuck did he know about comfort, anyway?

 

***

 

The GMC truck died twenty miles later.

 

They had stopped to check out what looked to be a recycling center and the few vehicles that had been in the parking lot- the first of any large kind of structure that they’d seen in forever- and the damn thing sputtered, then coughed, then just died.

 

The van had already stopped, so Rick didn’t need to honk the horn. Daryl was glad to get out of the van while he could, and began moving towards the recycling center. The need to check for supplies was so ingrained that it was a habit.

 

“You think we’ll have any luck?” Abraham moved like a silent shadow next to him, which considering the size of the man was a pretty neat trick.

 

Daryl shrugged one shoulder, and looked around. Michonne come up behind them, trailed by a very wan-looking Maggie. “Dunno. Could be. Worth it to check.”

 

The recycling center was very small. The landfill was probably several miles away, and this looked to be more of a sorting station. The size of the sorting space only looked like it would keep up with smaller towns, instead of a bigger one such as Richmond. That fit what they’d seen so far. Small towns, smaller townships and villages. Daryl didn’t much think of Virginia as the country- but the area they were in reminded him a lot of near where he grew up in Georgia.

 

“Looks like an office up here. None of the stuff back there is gonna yield anything except roaches.”

 

Michonne’s matter of fact voice caused Daryl to jump a little, startled into moving. Shit. _Shit_ . No one had noticed this time, but he’d done it _again._ Going off in his own head was way too fucking dangerous. It only took one moment, one _second_ for one of those things to get the drop on him, and that was it. No more Michonne, no more Carol, no more Judith. No more _Rick._

 

Abraham whistled under his breath, gun out. Daryl knew that he only had a few bullets left, and flanked him, letting Michonne take the lead. Maggie copied his movement from the other side, and Daryl wondered if it helped her to have something to do to get her mind off of her sister.

 

He wondered how long until she realized that it was all his fault that Beth was dead.

 

The office was also fairly small- maybe the size of a small living room. There was a glass door with blinds. The blinds didn’t let them see any movement, but that didn’t mean much. Walkers could be on the ground, or behind a desk, or anywhere.

 

Michonne opened the door slightly, all of them wincing when the hinges squeaked. She rapped on the door frame with the butt of her katana, then quickly tensed and waited.

 

Nothing.

 

Abraham pushed open the door and they all took in the destruction. Usually that kind of mess meant that someone else had gotten here a long time before they had, but it was always important to check.

 

It was empty, of course. Even the tank water in the attached bathroom toilet was gone.

 

They emerged from the dim depths of the recycling center, blinking a bit stupidly into the sun. Rick had already orchestrated the move from the GMC truck to the van, and they’d obviously attempted to siphon what gas they could find from the few vehicles in the parking lot. There wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Daryl figured that the van had to have been rolling on fumes too.

 

Daryl still couldn’t quite meet Rick’s gaze, although Carl managed to give him a weird look that he couldn’t quite read. Daryl went to claim shotgun before anyone else did, ignoring the teenager and his enigmatic looks. All Daryl had to do to see who was at fault in this little situation was look at the healing scab on that sweet baby girl’s forehead, and that was that. Oh he knew Rick would cool down eventually, but right now Daryl also knew that he deserved everything Rick gave him.

 

Deserved worse.

 

“Well it won’t be comfortable, but it beats walking. Everyone in.” Rick sounded exhausted, but everyone still followed their leader. Abraham got to drive just by default, since it was pretty much the only spot he would fit. Rosita squeezed between the two men in the front, folding her legs in a way that made Abraham leer at her a little, and Rosita hit his thigh with her fist.

 

Daryl didn’t want to know.

 

There were two bench seats and a fairly large spot in the back. Eugene, Tara and Maggie squished together on the first one, while Carol, Carl and Judith, and Noah managed to fit into the second. Gabriel sat near them, stretched out with his back against one of the sides of the sliding door. Rick, Eugene, Michonne and Sasha took the back, with one of the back doors held open for air. Daryl knew it would be safe enough. Wasn’t like they’d ever hit any faster than thirty miles an hour, no matter how clear the road was. You just never knew when something was gonna happen.

 

“You could open the side door. I will be fine.” Gabriel’s voice was calm, and he smiled slightly as though offering some great concession.

 

Rick’s voice was cold enough when he answered that it actually caused most of them in the van to freeze for a second.

 

“You might be fine, but my daughter doesn’t have a carseat.” Daryl watched in the side mirror as Rick’s gaze dismissed Gabriel's words. “Abraham. Think we’re good here.”

 

Abraham muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “Yessir” before starting the car. It lurched in a way that they all knew meant they’d be hoofing it before too long, but it was easy enough to ignore as they drove north towards DC.

 

***

 

Daryl only became aware that Rick was walking next to him when he spoke.

 

“We're not at our strongest. We'll get 'em when it's best. High ground, something like that. They're not going anywhere.”

 

Daryl didn’t have to look behind him to see that they were trailing walkers like a plume of cigarette smoke after taking the last drag. Daryl hoped that looking back over his shoulder hid the fact that he had jumped a little, recoiling in shock when Rick had actually spoken to him.

 

Now Daryl wasn’t stupid. He’d quit high school early because circumstances with his mom and the asshole she’d married had sucked, and they’d needed what money he could scrape together working odd jobs for rent and groceries. But he read. He actually read a _lot_ , to tell the truth. Given half a chance, Daryl would consume books of every genre and length, loving the fact that he could escape reality for a little while.

 

Daryl was very, very familiar with the idea of a reluctant hero. He’d read _The Lord of the Rings_ more times than was probably normal. Rick didn’t want to be their hero, but there was no one- literally, no one- who was even remotely suited for the job as he was. Carol had joked about a Ricktatorship at the prison, but Daryl had thought that even then, Rick would have damn near killed himself to do right by his people.

 

Talking to him, now, after what Daryl had done? What Daryl had allowed to happen?

 

That was just another case in point.

 

“It's been three weeks since Atlanta. I know you lost something back there.” Rick cocked his head, and Daryl jerked his eyes forward, staring straight ahead at the pavement in front of him. Carl and Michonne were talking lowly behind them, and it was a nice enough counterpoint to the way his stomach dropped in shock at the sudden acknowledgement after so long. “And later, near that... lodge.” Rick lowered his voice so much that Daryl barely heard the words. He felt sick at the mention of... _that_ place, and what they’d seen there. The swooping in his stomach could have been nausea from not eating in a couple of days, or from the terribly dehydration they all felt.

 

They hadn’t had a water source in two days.

 

Rick actually touched his elbow so that Daryl’s attention jumped and stuttered back onto him. “Daryl. I’m just sayin’ that if you need--”

 

Judith fussed a little in her daddy’s arms. They both looked down at her. Judith wasn’t normally a fussy baby. For the most part, she was content to gaze around at her world with calm, brown eyes. Lori’s eyes. “She's hungry.”

 

“She's okay. She's going to be okay. We need to find water, food. We'll hit something in the road.” Rick sounded fierce, and something buried deep in his gut made Daryl want to believe him. It made him want to make it true, for Rick. “It's gonna rain sooner or later.”

 

All Daryl had to see was the way Rick held Judith in his arms, constantly, like he couldn’t bear to let her go, even for her to ride in the little papoose thing Tyreese had found for her so long ago to understand how terrified the man really was. Had been. Is. If this were a book, there’d be a Sam to Rick’s Frodo, or a Spock to Rick’s Captain Kirk. Someone strong, and smart, who complimented him in all the ways he needed the most.

 

But all Rick had was him.

 

“‘m gonna head out. See what I can find.” He _would_ find water for that baby girl if it killed him.

 

Rick removed his hand from Daryl’s elbow, as if only just realizing that he’d left it there. “Hey, don't be too long.” The worry in his voice was just as obvious as the caring from before, and it made Daryl just as uncomfortable.

 

“I'll go with you,” Carol said, her voice clear enough to hear over the sound of the walkers from behind them.

 

Daryl frowned. She was just barely okay enough to walk around without falling over. “I got it.” He started to cut left, into the woods.

 

“You gonna stop me?” Carol snorted. Daryl hid a grin, shocked at his body’s ability to find something even a little bit humorous. It seemed so out of place. The snort of amusement seemed shockingly warm after the numbness he’d been in for so long. His shoulder twitched in a shrug, and he carefully held the limbs out of her way so they wouldn’t snap back in her face as he jumped a little over a dried up ditch and through what looked to be an old deer trail.

 

It was so damn humid that Daryl wanted to lick up his own sweat, just so his mouth could get rid of that terrible cotton-mouth feeling. The worms he’d eaten for protein earlier had left a film in his mouth that he couldn’t quite shake. He huffed a breath, looking around at the landscape, hoping for some hint of water. Instead he caught sight of a dip further out that he thought might be a stream, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Some of the trees looked like they’d been burnt not that long ago- a year, two maybe. The problem was this area was undergoing one helluva drought. Sasha had said that she’d seen all sorts of dead reptiles earlier, which could mean that the land had dried up normally or that the water source had been contaminated somehow. Neither helped him or his people any.

 

He and Carol walked in silence for almost a half a mile, Daryl trekking so that they’d be moving parallel enough with Rick and the rest of their group that things wouldn’t go too shitty if they needed him. He was just out of shouting distance, even with the added silence of the dead world around them. They found a burned out cabin that had been stripped of everything but the corpse in the corner and one extremely skittish skunk that had fortunately been more interested in getting the hell away from the two of them then spraying, but otherwise nothing. They walked on in silence. Daryl started to remember the number of walkers that had followed them, and began to get twitchy, nervous about getting back to Rick.

 

“Anything?” Carol’s voice was heavy with the knowledge that there’d be no change, but too stubborn to give up hope.

 

“No, it's too dry. There ain't nothing here.”

 

“Maybe we should start back.” Carol looked back over her shoulder and cocked her head, listening. Daryl knew that she probably expected trouble too. It had been too quiet not to.

 

“You go.” He turned away to kick at a few sticks buried in what looked to be some dried up muck.

 

Daryl heard Carol suck in what sounded like a pained breath. He looked back at her, eyes darting to her ribs, worried that the damn stubborn woman had been hiding how hurt she was. When she spoke, it was cautious enough that it immediately put him on guard.

 

“I think she saved my life. She saved your life, too, right?”

 

In a flash Daryl remembered the mortuary, and the food, and the dog; the walkers and the burning house. He remembered extending his middle finger in a fuck you to everything and _‘You’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon.’_ It actually hurt him with how right she’d been. He felt his throat close up with emotion, and his already dry eyes prickle uncomfortably. He blinked hard, and saw that Carol had come closer, and was holding out a sheathed knife.

 

Jesus _Christ,_ she’d kept Bethie’s knife. She’d kept Bethie’s knife for _him_ , not for Maggie, and holy fucking hell- what was she _thinking_?! He took it with fingers that shook.

 

Carol spoke quickly, her voice trembling with her own guilt. “It was hers.” Daryl flipped the leather sheath over and over in his hands, unable to keep himself from stopping. “We're not dead. That's what you said. ‘You're not dead’.” She paused for a beat, her blue eyes so, so kind; understanding and knowing and seeing e _verything_ and for the first time Daryl realized that Carol was _his_ in a way that Merle had been his, that between them there was such an unshakable trust and knowledge of who he was that he could take it for granted without even realizing it.

 

“I know you. We're different. I can't let myself-- “ Carol stopped, blinked hard. “But you... I know you. You have to let yourself feel it.” Daryl couldn’t look away from the warm bluegrey eyes that looked at him, knew all of his secrets, and loved him anyway. He couldn’t quite bear to meet her eyes.

 

“You will,” Carol said firmly. The tears Daryl had managed to keep back made his throat ache, especially when Carol went up on her tippy toes to brush his hair out of his face, pulling him in to give him a kiss on his forehead. His heart ached, but he couldn’t cry.

 

Not yet.

 

Daryl forced himself to suck in a breath, and another, until the tightness in his throat went away. It reminded him too much of things best forgotten, and now was neither the time, nor the place. Carol started walking back, and after a second, Daryl followed her, heading towards the bridge where the road crossed the creek. The creekbed was too dry for the water they needed. The water _Judith_ needed. Daryl knew that it was probably dumb of him to try to fix what he’d allowed to happen to that baby girl with a few cups of water, but he couldn’t seem to help trying. Not finding any was getting on his last fucking nerve. He kicked at a clump of dirt, swearing under his breath. It would be a fucking nice change if they could just catch a break. Just _one_.

 

The walker came out of nowhere, splatting  to its real death from the force of the fall. Carol yipped in shock, fumbling for her knife. Two others fell, and he and Carol were on them without needing to talk about it. The spark of adrenaline was like a kick to the face; sudden and unexpected. Daryl jerked his gaze up, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

 

Not too far away, maybe twenty feet or so, Rick and their group stood on a bridge. Daryl took in what they’d done in an instant; and was shocked at the low burn of absolute fury that pooled in his gut. For what it was worth, Rick’s plan had been a good one; capitalizing on the dregs of strength they had left. He was just pissed that Rick hadn’t waited for him and Carol to get back. Carl, Judith, Eugene, Gabriel, Tara and Rosita huddled on the far side of the bridge, ready in case any of the walkers got through. Rick, Glenn and Michonne stood on one side, closest to Daryl and Carol, with Abraham, Maggie, and Sasha on the other. Their plan seemed to be to push the walkers out of their way. It was just bad luck that he and Carol had been standing practically under the damn things.

 

“Aw _shit_ ,” Carol swore, and started moving faster. Daryl heard Michonne’s voice, sharp in warning as she said Sasha’s name, and Rick’s low drawl as he ordered them to move.

 

“Stay in Line. Flank her. Keep it controlled.”

 

Carol’s nails were sharp on the meat of his arm as she jerked his attention upwards. Whatever had happened- they were at the wrong angle to see- had caused the walkers to have a slight advantage.

 

“Plan just got dicked,” Abraham sounded absolutely disgusted.

 

Daryl scrambled up the incline and panic caused him to find energy when he thought that he’d had none. Two of them had gotten to Rick. Rick was able to take out one, but the other was close. Too close. Daryl lunged forward, grabbing it by the hair and shoving the blade of the knife through the chin, up into its brain. It sagged with dead weight, and Daryl threw it to the side, trying to shake the image of just how close that fucker’s teeth had gotten to the skin above Rick’s elbow.

 

Daryl only realized that he’d taken it out with Beth’s knife when the whole thing was over. He ignored his thundering heartbeat and turned to help the others, but he wasn’t needed. Abraham was fighting with one who’d had its throat cut, and Michonne had swung her katana into action, taking out the last few.

 

Daryl blinked a little, looking around for more. Habit had him checking the non-combatants at his back, making sure that nothing had snuck up on them while they’d been busy. When he turned back, he could see that some sort of shit was in the middle of going down with Michonne and Sasha, and he knew that he should probably say something, but he couldn’t quite seem to get the words out of his throat. Daryl kept seeing how close he had been to being _too late_ , and had the bizarre desire to touch Rick, to feel his heat and the strength of his body.

 

 _That_ freaked him out more than a little, and he was a few steps behind when they crossed the bridge and joined up with the rest of the group. Daryl found himself staring at Rick out of the corner of his eyes as the former sheriff smiled at his son and took Judith back into his arms. Judith fussed, and Daryl found himself shoving his hands in his pockets when she looked over at him, eyes wet with tears. He could see that she was flushed, and didn’t know if the small dry patch of skin near Judith’s mouth was from irritation or dehydration.

  
“Dad, look.” Carl pointed at the stalled-out cars in the middle of the road. Daryl felt his face twist; he knew that he had to get the fuck out of there, before... before....

 

“I'm gonna head into the woods, circle back.” Daryl found himself moving almost before Rick’s startled nod.

 

“May I come with?” No amusement this time. Carol sounded worried.

 

“No. No, just me.” Daryl didn’t know what was in his face, or his voice, but no one followed this time. Daryl staggered on legs that seemed appallingly weak, and he knew something was fucked. Something wasn’t right. He forced himself to step away from his family as they practically jumped forward to search the cars, needing to be away. Alone.

 

Merle would have laughed at him to see him like this. Well, maybe. Michonne said he’d let her go, so maybe he’d not laugh his ass off. Neither one of them had been particularly good with any sort of emotional shit. Daryl knew that if Merle would never slap him on the back and ask him it was okay. He’d scoff at him and tell him to go jerk off, probably.

 

Daryl fell to his knees, staring at the skeletal remains of a doe. He felt like ants were marching along under his skin as his skin fairly crawled with deja vu. Remembering far back in Atlanta, when he’d first met Rick made Daryl feel more strange and floaty. He’d been so fucking _pissed_ that Shane and this stupid-looking cop asshole had let the dead one get to his kill. Then he’d looked. Really _looked_ at the stupid asshole cop and-

 

God, that had been so long ago. It felt like years. Eons. Daryl blinked, then blinked again, hearing a low buzzing in his head. He felt so detached, like all of this was happening to someone else and if he could just dial in, could just pay attention enough he’d jolt back into reality.

 

Sweat dripped into his eye and it burned.

 

The deer in front of him had been picked clean except for the skin. Its spine was showing, and whatever hadn’t been eaten had rotted away. Daryl jerked his gaze to his left, then to his right, hands balling into matching fists. He was shaking, terrified that he’d never stop. It had been just inches and Rick would be. He’d almost been _too late_ to help Rick. Daryl knew if something like that happened again he would never forgive himself.

 

_(The pathetic ‘I’m sorry’ etched into the floor swam up before his eyes and Daryl had to unball his fists, and press the palms of his hands against his eyelids, pressing pressing pressing and his breath kicked up until he was gasping, sucking in air in and out and inandout until that image was obliterated by sunbursts and he could breathe again. And again.)_

 

It took a moment to reorient himself. Daryl forced himself to drop his hands, to open his eyes. Daryl stared harder at the dead doe, then flicked his glance over to the dead walker against the tree. Weirdly- that helped to ground him. He slowly found that he could breathe again, that his lungs took in oxygen just fine.

 

He was alive. He was real, and his people needed him to get his head out of his ass. He couldn’t be jumping at shadows, or hightailing it out into the woods by himself. Not when there was a chance that he’d be needed; that another attack from a herd could happen at any time.

 

With that, he lurched back to his feet, and retraced his steps. They’d all sat down on the side of the road, dejection rising above them like a cloud of dust. It didn’t take a genius to see that they hadn’t found anything. Daryl deliberately made some noise and saw that Rick was the first to react, catching his gaze and holding it for long enough that Daryl felt every inch of his gaze, low in his body. It wasn’t the first time it had happened when Rick stared at him, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

 

Rick’s concern was obvious, and almost too much. Daryl ducked his head and then jerked his head up, asking without words if they’d found anything. Rick shook his head ‘no’. Daryl hadn’t expected them to, but it still hurt.

 

He crossed the road (the fact that even now he still looked both ways was just weird- a habit held over from years that probably wouldn’t ever break) then crouched down near them, noticing that Carl and Rick were sitting back to back, giving the other something to lean against.

 

They sat there for a moment, and Daryl noticed that just being back here helped calm him more. He knew what a panic attack was of course. He’d had a friend, Steve, who’d served in the military that had them whenever he was startled by a loud sound. The only way to bring him out of it was tactile; getting close to him had been tricky, but a simple brush of a human hand would jar Steve out of wherever his mind went.

 

Abraham had found some booze, and no one was very interested in taking it from him. The big man was drinking in a way that fairly shouted to anyone who cared to listen that he was drinking to forget something- and Daryl knew without thinking exactly what it was. Rosita knew too, which was the only reason she wasn’t stopping him.

 

Thunder growled, and both he and Rick jerked their gazes up, both frowning at the realization that whatever rain was gonna happen, it wasn’t gonna happen here. The clouds were too wispy.

 

The low growl startled Daryl and he fumbled for his knife, freezing for just a moment as the matted, feral-looking dog came out of the bushes near where Daryl had come out of the forest not five minutes before.

 

For a second, Daryl didn’t know if he was really seeing this. The dog looked like some kid’s pet, but when four other dogs came out of the woods, all barking and snarling, Daryl tensed to react to their aggression.

 

Before he could do anything, Sasha had shot them all in the head, killing them instantly.

 

Daryl knew what Rick was gonna do before he did it. It didn’t take a genius to read the way he looked back over his shoulder at Carl or the mild look of revulsion that clouded his expression before he got to his feet.

 

Meat was meat after all, and none of them had eaten for at least two days.

 

The dogs had reverted back to a pack state- survival pushing their domesticated natures to the side. It wasn’t so different than them, really.

 

Daryl stood to help dress the carcasses, noting that Michonne and Carol had began to pull dead brush from the side of the road to make a little fire. With five dogs, there was plenty to go around, and once they’d started their own survival instinct kicked in enough for them to mostly ignore what they were eating and focus instead on the fact that they were eating.

 

“You think we should camp for the night?”

  
Rick’s question startled Daryl enough that he jumped a little, before tossing the bones into the fire. Daryl looked around, realizing just how exhausted he was. “There’s a clearing a bit back. Not too far. Better ‘n being here in the open.”

 

“Right,” Rick’s voice was low enough that Daryl could tell that he, too was at the end of his rope. “Come on. Might as well stop for the night. Daryl’s got us a place. Let’s go.”

 

Michonne kicked the fire to dust. The lingering scent of cooked meat hung around the small campfire, but Daryl knew that in a few minutes there’d be no trace of them.

 

Abraham staggered a little as he started cutting down branches for camping overnight and the rest of them started hauling branches and rocks to form a barrier for all of them to sleep in. The barrier wasn’t much, but they didn’t have any twine or anything for a sound trap. The best they could do was post guards and hope that if anything came at them, the barrier would cause them to trip or make enough noise that it would alert everyone to what was going on. They had no more food, so there wasn’t any reason for a fire, and the light would just point them out to anything that happened by anyway.

 

It wasn’t going to be the worst night of camping rough, but it wasn’t gonna be the Ritz, either.

 

“Alright, we’re gonna want to get going at first light. I can’t remember who is up for watch.”

 

“Not you.” Carol frowned up at Rick, giving the impression of her hands on her hips. “You’ve been going on for hours and days and we don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. You need rest, Rick. Let someone else take over for the night.”

 

Rick shook his head. “I’m fine.”

 

Daryl snorted and crossed to near where the deer had been (one of them had gotten rid of it and the walker; it said a lot for his own state of exhaustion that he hadn’t noticed who, or when) wasting no time curling down into the soft grass. It didn’t take very long to dig a small spot for his ass and he was asleep almost before he gave himself permission to do so.

 

Daryl woke up once when someone lay down at his back. His brain woke up just long enough to recognize that it was Rick, who was shivering a little and pressing his face into Daryl’s back, spooning up behind him. It wasn’t the first time they’d all slept in big puppy piles, but Daryl couldn’t ever remember a time that Rick had curled with his front to Daryl’s back. His sleepy brain acknowledged it as ‘yes, Rick, good’ and he fell back asleep, not even waking when the night watch changed.

 

****

 

Thunder rumbled in the darkness of morning and Daryl’s eyes snapped open, coming awake all at once. It was much too dark to see anything, but Daryl recognized low voices murmuring off to the side. He felt Rick’s breath flutter against his cheek, and that sent a whole _slew_ of dinosaur-sized butterflies jumping up and down in Daryl’s stomach. He didn’t know exactly when Rick had come over to sleep by him, and he for damn sure didn’t know when he’d rolled over and decided that snuggling up to the other man was a good idea, but he had.

 

Boy had he.

 

Daryl was blissfully warm, and unbelievably comfortable. His and Rick’s legs had tangled together, with one of Rick’s over his, so that they slotted together perfectly. His arm had snaked under Rick’s head, and his forehead had been mashed up against Rick’s sternum. In sleep, Rick’s arm had stretched out over Daryl’s hip, with his fingers tangled into the back of Daryl’s vest and shirt. It was like his brain recognized this comfort, knew that it was Rick _providing_ the comfort and had just checked out.

 

Daryl realized that his dick was rock hard, pressed up as it was against Rick’s hip and he _froze_. It throbbed in counterpoint to his suddenly racing heart. It wasn’t too hard to disengage himself from where he and Rick lay together, and he was glad enough that the dark covered up both his reaction to being safe and warm and his mortified blush at his body’s reaction.

 

Shit. Daryl couldn’t even remember the last time he’d _had_ a hard-on.

 

He sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, absolutely _not_ noticing the sleepy sound of discontent Rick made as he shuffled into a new sleeping position. The thunder growled again, and Daryl sighed, ignoring his stupid, confused dick and waiting a bit so he could go take a piss without having to do an awkward morning wood lurch.

 

The sun had started to lighten the sky, and Daryl could now see indistinct grey shapes huddled around the clearing, with Eugene, Tara, and Michonne awake and taking the last watch. He yawned and smacked his lips, then got up to go do his thing. Their meal last night had been more mentally and emotionally disgusting than had a really bad taste- but now that his stomach remembered food, it wanted some more.

 

They resumed their long walk towards D.C. before the sun had fully risen. Hours passed mostly without conversation. The sun was unreal, the temperature humid and carrying with it a faint scent of ozone.

 

Daryl felt like an observer in a play. He overheard Abraham try to reach out to Sasha- and that guy was about as good as the emotional shit as he was, _Jesus_. His heart broke when Glenn finally got Maggie to talk to him, a conversation that sounded like it was more than overdue. Daryl couldn’t say why he had chosen to stay back, trailing along at the end of their sad little parade, but it allowed him to stay apart from everything, and Daryl knew that despite what Carol had said to him yesterday it was for the best.

 

He caught sight of one of the long-dead, and didn’t bother stopping to check the body. If it had been recently dead, there might be something on it; a knife, some water, a lighter. Checking a dead body that wouldn’t yield anything just seemed like too much work.

 

“Daryl.” Glenn acknowledging him caused a weird spurt of almost panic. He looked over at his friend, frowning.

 

“No, I'm all right,” he answered, shaking his head a little at the offered water bottle. There were others that needed that water more than him.

 

“ _Daryl_.”

 

Daryl couldn’t meet Glenn’s eyes. Glenn was such a caretaker, and it hurt to be remembered as part of them, not apart from them. One quick offer of the last of their water had undermined the entire shell he’d been trying to build up. “Don't.” Daryl was almost begging. He could feel the juddering anxiety building just under his skin again, and knew he had to get away before they all saw.

 

“Hey, we can make it together. But we can _only_ make it together.” Glenn’s voice practically rang with sincerity before he sped up a little to catch up with Maggie and Daryl knew he had to go. He had to go right. the fuck. now.

 

Daryl looked over his shoulder at the quietly mellow Abraham. “Tell them I went looking for water,” he gasped, then escaped back to the woods. He almost tripped in his haste and staggered as he walked further away from the group than he normally went.

 

The trees broke away into a small clearing, and Daryl collapsed with his back against a few trees, reaching desperately into his pocket for a smoke. He ignored the way his fingers and lips trembled as he lit it and inhaled, the heavy, sweet smoke doing nothing to calm down his jittery nerves. There was a house, or a barn maybe in the distance, and Daryl stared at it, remembering the last barn he’d been in. What he’d done to that kid. Randy? Randall. Daryl’d beat the shit out of that kid like he’d owed him money or something, desperate even then for an in with Rick. Back then, Rick wouldn’t have been able to do it, and Daryl didn’t much care. Everything was so fucked up- Sophia dying, and Carol going off by herself, all the tension with Lori, and Shane acting nuttier than usual... finding out what Randall had known had been something easy; mindless enough that he could justify his worth to someone.

 

The memory of Sophia hurt, like it always did, and it was easy enough to imagine Judith grown up; eight or nine years old with Lori’s eyes, and Rick’s curly brown hair. The pink-cheeked fantasy changed, the once-sweet face becoming grey with rot and decay, the bright brown eyes dulling with the here-but-nobody’s-home sheen of the recently dead.

 

The too-tight feeling in his chest and in his throat returned so quickly that Daryl couldn’t catch his breath. It didn’t matter that he was here alone because of his own design, he felt abandoned and left to his own devices. It was stupid to feel that way, but that didn’t change how he felt. Carol’s words came back to him, and Daryl knew that he just couldn’t do it- couldn’t just cry or let it go, not like she wanted him to.

 

He pulled the cigarette out from his mouth. He barely spared a glance for anything else as he stared at it, the ash from the paper, and the cherry dulling a little without him sucking on the filter. Without thinking about it, he brought the cig back to his lips and inhaled, then brought the lit end down to the skin between his first finger and thumb and pressed, watching with an almost detached interest as the skin hissed and sizzled.

 

It wasn’t enough.

 

Daryl dropped the cigarette in front of him, then pressed his fingernail into the small wound. It was hot to the touch and _that_ . Yeah. That was something. _He was actually feeling something._ Pain pricked behind his eyes, and he blinked a few times, remembering the feel of Rick’s body against his in that grounding, comforting hug after seeing all those dead kids, then the feel of Carol’s delicate hand on the back of his head, pulling him down into a gentle forehead kiss.

 

He hitched in a shaky gulp of air, tasting the stale cigarettes, and his eyes absolutely burned before they spilled over with tears. He sucked in a deep breath and sobbed, closing his eyes and pressing the back of his head against the rough tree bark. The too-tight feeling in his chest slowly broke open, and Daryl tightened his hands into fists feeling the edges of the burn pull, folding himself over and wrapping his arms around his legs. He curled there for a few minutes, finally, _finally_ allowing himself to break. It was okay. There wasn’t anyone that was gonna see. He could do this for a few minutes, give himself just this once to not have to worry or care and it would be fine.

 

The burn on his hand ached. Daryl felt the sting of sweat and tears drip onto the burn and hissed, shaking in place where he sat.

 

He didn’t notice the cloud cover, or the low growl of thunder in the distance. Daryl was much too wrapped up in his own head, crying for what they’d all lost, for what they’d had, and for who they’d never see again.

 

Eventually though, he slowed down his frantic gulp of breath, forcing himself back to the Daryl he’d been ten minutes ago. It didn’t quite fit, like his skin was too tight. He grabbed his rag and wiped the snot and tears off of his face, wishing that he had something to splash his face with. It was always obvious when he’d been crying; he hadn’t been able to hide it from his mama, or Merle, and he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t going to be able to hide it from Rick Grimes.

 

A tiny little voice deep inside wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to.

 

Even though part of him didn’t want to- he pushed that part way, way down where he didn’t have to deal with it right now and got up. Daryl retraced his steps back to the road, only to start to walk faster when he saw that everyone was clustered around something.

 

Rick’s calm, blue gaze skated over him taking in his blotchy face, red eyes, and burned hand with barely a blink. He strode over to hand him the note, and Daryl’s heartbeat accelerated. Daryl swung his crossbow into use, looking further down the road, straining his ears for the sound of whoever could have left them water.

 

It was terrifying, a little. The water looked so innocuous just sitting there, but one lesson they’d all learned and learned hard was that things were rarely what they seemed. If something looked too good to be true, then it probably was. Who could have gotten close enough to put it there?

 

Thunder rumbled overhead, much closer now, and Daryl was distracted from the sounds of Rosita and Tara’s voices raised in worry, looking back just in time to see Abraham swat one of the water bottles out of Eugene’s hand with one huge paw.

 

The scent of ozone intensified, one deafening thunderclap causing all of them to jump, then look up at the sky. Three herds of walkers could have jumped out of the trees for all they noticed. The temperature dropped slightly, a cold wind blowing through the trees. The first few drops spit, landing with wet, fat _plops_ on the concrete of the road. Daryl couldn’t make himself look away from the way Rick tipped his head back to better feel the rain as it fell on his face, a slow, almost sheepish smile stretching the other man’s lips from under the beard.

 

“Oh, God. I'm sorry, my Lord.” Gabriel sounded joyous, and Daryl made himself open his mouth, taking in some much-needed water as it fell harder and harder. Michonne started laughing, reaching out to Carol with a smile. Tara and Rosita both lay down right where they were, looking up at the sky and enjoying the cool, clean downpour.

 

“Everybody get the bags. Anything you can find.” Abraham and Daryl scrambled to find what they could, looking for water bottles and bowls, pots and pans. The rain intensified, and the thunder growled even closer. The sky looked like something out of _Apocalypse Now,_ with dark clouds curling together. Judith started to cry, shocked out of her sleepy state by the loud booms of thunder. Carl used his hat to give her what protection he could.

 

“Let's keep moving.” Rick sounded all at once nervous, and Daryl thought it was a shame that he couldn’t even enjoy this rainstorm without worrying about shelter for his people. Daryl blinked a few times, staring at Rick. It probably wasn’t polite, or appropriate in any way, but Daryl couldn’t make himself look away. The water had slicked back Rick’s hair, beading up in the beard enough that Daryl could discern tiny, individual droplets. It had turned Rick’s already threadbare t shirt into something almost pornographic; soaking wet and molding to every curve and line of Rick’s body. It took Daryl a second to realize that there had been something he was going to tell him, something important other than the sudden dryness of his mouth.

 

“There's a barn!” Daryl pitched his voice louder, over the sound of the wind and the pouring rain.

 

“Where?” Rick looked no less imposing, even through the mountain man in the rain look he had going for him. Daryl shook his head, telling himself to focus.

 

“Come on, just back a ways. Bring the bottles!” They all scrambled to follow Daryl’s order, holding the bottles and bowls up to catch the rain from the thundershower. It only took a few minutes for all of them to gather up their stuff and start to follow Daryl, past the little copse of trees through the clearing and into the barn.

 

Maggie, Rick, Carol, and Abraham cleared the barn, while the rest of them waited in the rain. It seemed incredible that twenty minutes ago they had been so hot that the sweat on their bodies would steam away, and now they were shivering with a cold, cleansing rain.

 

The barn was a godsend. There were strategically-placed holes in the wood that the cool wind would pass through just enough. It had a mix of a tin and a wooden roof, so while the sound of the rain on the roof was loud, it kept them dry.

 

The previous occupant, an older lady who had died from natural causes (well, it wasn’t like they’d done an autopsy, but she didn’t have any other wounds on her other than the one that had killed her the second time), had kept the barn pretty well stocked. There wasn’t a lot of canned food left, but it was enough that no one was starving. They had water, they had shelter, they were closed in enough to have an actual fire. They even had a bunch of kindling and sticks, thanks to a sort of lean-to the old woman had rigged outside of the back of the barn. This time it _was_ the fuckin’ Ritz.

 

The pounding rain and the cloudy afternoon made it hard to actually tell the time, but it was early evening or close enough to it. Several people had opted to sleep while they could, or some approximation of it. Maggie had gone off to a stall by herself, making a bed out of some leftover straw. Sasha and Abraham had gone to the far end of the barn, although Sasha kept pacing enough that it was even driving Gabriel bugshit. Gabriel was on his knees, praying, the constant stream of words a strange, hissing counterpoint to the sound of the rain and the wind. Rosita, Tara, and Eugene had ended up in another stall, huddled together under a blanket. Daryl hadn’t been sure where Noah was until he’d moved just out of the circle of the fire, sitting just apart from the five of them. The kid had been pretty quiet lately, processing his own grief and guilt over Tyreese’s death.

 

Daryl, Rick, Glenn, Carol and Michonne sat by the fire, talking softly. Carl had insisted that he wasn’t tired, and they all tried not to smirk at the way that had lasted for all of ten minutes, before he flopped back, snuggled up with his sister, and started snoring, quietly.

 

“You good?”

 

Daryl ducked his head, not particularly wanting to explain the burn on his hand. It was shiny in the light from the fire. The old woman who had lived there had an aloe plant and lots of gauze, so Carol had bandaged it up enough that he wouldn’t fuck it up anymore or bang it against anything if he needed to use his hand. He’d unwound the gauze so that he could eat and hadn’t put it back yet. The pain was a dull throb, like an abscessed tooth, and just enough that Daryl couldn’t forget about it completely.

 

Rick reached out and took his wrist, staring at the circular burn mark with a look on his face that Daryl couldn’t parse out.

 

Daryl nodded at Rick’s question, a little thrown at the sensation of his wrist in Rick’s warm hands. He didn’t feel ashamed of what he’d done, but he didn’t want Rick worrying about him either. Rick worried enough about all of them, all the time. It had to be exhausting. Daryl tugged his hand away and rewrapped his burn.

 

Carl made a snuffling noise and caught Rick’s attention. Carl was plenty warm from the fire, and Judith had been bundled into a sheet they’d found, so that they could lay out her other clothes to dry.

 

The fire crackled, flames flaring up for a moment as Daryl put some sticks onto it. One of them was too wet and it smoked a little before Glenn smacked it out of the main flames, allowing it to dry a little.

 

“He's gonna be okay. He bounces back more than any of us do.” Carol’s voice was low, so as not to disturb any of the barn’s other occupants. The fact that she could still reassure Rick after losing Sophia, and Mika and Lizzie... and Tyreese made Daryl want to reach out to her somehow. He wasn’t entirely sure what Carol had had with their friend, but it had been important enough to her that she’d relaxed around him, like she felt like she had no secrets. Hell, look at the way she and Tyreese kept Judith safe. Kids had always been Carol’s soft spot, and Daryl knew it was the only thing that would keep her from going to too dark of a place.

 

“I used to feel sorry for kids that have to grow up now. In this.” Carol’s face tightened like it did whenever she remembered her daughter. “But I think I got it wrong. Growing up is getting used to the world. This is easier for them.” She shrugged a little.

 

“This isn't the world. _This_ isn't it.” Michonne’s voice, quiet after so long, was fierce. Daryl looked at her from under his bangs.

 

Glenn turned to look over his shoulder at his wife, where she lay alone and feigning sleep. “It might be,” It was the closest to giving up that Daryl had ever heard him sound. Now, he wished he had just drank the goddamn water. “It might.” He sounded defensive.

 

“That's giving up.” Michonne squared her shoulders.

 

“It's reality.” Glenn stabbed angrily at the dirt floor in front of them.

 

It was wrong to have Glenn of all of them so dejected. Daryl frowned again, and started to say something, but then Rick opened his mouth to speak and Daryl found himself caught up in the drawl and cadence of Rick’s words.

 

“Until we see otherwise, this is what we have to live with. When I was a kid...” Rick in storytelling mode was more rare than chocolate bars. Daryl noticed that they all were staring at their leader, listening so hard that they were practically leaning forward. It would have been funny if Daryl hadn’t been listening just as hard as any of ‘em.

 

“I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer. He said that was grown-up stuff, so... so I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him.” Rick glanced at his sleeping children. “But he got real quiet. He said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Every day he woke up and told himself, ‘Rest in peace. Now get up and go to war.’ And then after a few years of pretending he was dead... he made it out alive.” Rick breathed in slowly, quiet for a moment. “That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and then we get to live. But no matter what we find in DC, I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves... that we are the walking dead.”

 

Daryl froze, feeling strangely betrayed for a half of a heartbeat. No. _No_ ... that wasn’t. That’s not what they were. They weren’t those mindless, drooling fuckers, so intent on eating that they’d walk through fire for their next meal, desperate with a forever unsatisfied hunger. “We _ain't_ them.” Daryl said a little too fast, a little too loud. That Rick would compare them to those... those _things_ was just so wrong that it made that tight band around his chest snap shut again. Daryl's breath left him as he struggled to draw in air. He tried to distract himself by breaking some branches for the fire, but his hands were shaking too much for him to get much of a hold.

 

Some of his shock must have bled through because Rick leaned forward, reaching out for him. Daryl shook off his touch, all at once furious at the attempt. “We're not them. Hey. We're _not_ .” Rick was all intent concern, but it was bullshit. It _was_ if he could say something like that... and mean it.

 

Daryl’s throat tightened. He stood up, looking down at Rick’s dismayed face. He doubted that Rick knew what he’d said that tipped Daryl past his breaking point, but it was obvious he knew that he’d fucked up somehow. “ _We_ _ain't_ _them_ ,” Daryl said, his voice low and tight with all the stuff he couldn’t make himself say.

 

He whirled on his heel and walked away, slipping through the barn doors and into the rain. Even the deluge didn’t stop him from moving away from his people and their shelter. Daryl only realized that his hands were balled into fists when the bright spark of pain on his hand informed him in no uncertain terms that no, dumbass. His wound was _not_ healed. A flash of lightning let him look around for any danger. He didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t any. Daryl stalked off towards what had been an outbuilding, not wanting to go back to the tiny tangle of trees where he’d had his crying jag from before.

 

The outbuilding wasn’t much of a shelter. There was a half of a roof, but no doors. One of the walls had fallen in on itself. Daryl heard a step behind him and whirled, Beth’s knife just appearing in his hand.

 

Rick, soaked to the skin, stepped back out of knifing range, bringing his hand up to stop Daryl’s downward movement, his hand closing like iron onto Daryl’s forearm.

 

“Shit!” Daryl immediately relaxed, but Rick didn’t let go of him, instead using his grip to steady himself as he stepped forward, into Daryl’s space. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the barn area in a strobe, and Daryl could see that Rick was absolutely _furious._

 

“I didn’t say anything when you started goin’ off alone. Figured you had as much of a reason to as anyone, given what you’d been through. Told myself it was fine, that you’d always be within shouting distance. But then you _weren’t_ and you were _off hurting yourself._ ” Rick’s voice was so low that Daryl found himself straining to hear him over the thunder and rain. Despite his fury, or because of it, he still didn’t let go of Daryl’s arm. Rick took a step forward, and Daryl countered with a step back. His own heart was still pounding in his chest and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his own temper if Rick didn’t calm down.

 

“Figured it wasn’t none of my business what you got up to in the woods, then I found out you’d been skipping your rations. Giving them to Carl, and to Jud--”

 

“Well, what do you take me for? You was right when you said I was supposed to keep her safe. I’m _doin’_ the best I fuckin’ know _how_ !” Daryl jerked his arm out of Rick’s grip, glaring at the other man. “You think I don’t know that I almost got her killed? All it woulda taken was for her to fall wrong on that pavement-- you think I can ever make that up to her? To _you_?” Daryl pushed at Rick’s shoulders, desperate to have some space between them.

 

Rick, who had frozen when Daryl’s words tumbled out one right after another, faltered, stunned enough that he almost fell when Daryl pushed at him, slipping in the mud they’d tracked from the yard. Instinct had Rick pushing back, butting at Daryl with his chest until Daryl was crowded up against the wall of the ancient outbuilding, shivering from the cold, clammy feel of his clothes at his back and the blazing heat of Rick’s body at his front.

 

Cornered, Daryl tightened his fists, ready to swing, jerking in place when Rick caught them in one hand, bringing them up to the wall behind Daryl with a push. Rick’s leg slotted in between Daryl’s, pushing him off balance, so he was leaning back against the wall of the outbuilding.

 

“You... that’s _not_...” Rick broke off what he was going to say.

 

“You gave up on us! Called us the dead! You _actually_ compared us to those rotting, stinking--”

 

Rick’s lips crashed into his, halting the flow of words. Daryl felt every single muscle in his body freeze in absolute and utter shock. Rick’s beard scratched against his own, and their teeth clacked together painfully. RIck pulled away for a second, and they stared at each other in mutual suspicion, each waiting for the other to do something that involved a fist to a tender body part. Daryl could not make himself move for the absolute life of him. He flexed his wrists against Rick’s hold, and sucked in a quick breath before deliberately licking his swollen lip and staring back at Rick, silent, daring him to take it further.

 

Rick swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed, then leaned forward, giving Daryl all the time he needed to change his mind or push him away.

 

This time, Daryl kissed him back.

 

Daryl relaxed into the kiss and Rick’s mouth moved, tilting just enough that it made every goddamn nerve in Daryl’s body absolutely sing. He moaned and Rick responded by stepping even closer so that their bodies were flush against each other’s. Instead of holding Daryl’s wrists to the wall, Rick switched his grip so that he was caging Daryl’s wrists, feeling the frantic beat of Daryl’s pulse with this thumb rubbing back and forth over the tender skin.

 

Daryl wasn’t much of a kisser. He’d always thought that his lips were a little too thin to do it properly. He’d not exactly had a bunch of practice, to tell the truth. But when he licked at Rick’s mouth, Rick responded by sucking on his tongue. When Rick bit at Daryl’s bottom lip in response, Daryl made a shocked, breathy sound that made Rick’s hips rock against his own. Daryl shifted his body just a little and they both moaned this time at the friction that had both of their cocks rubbing together behind their clothes.

 

Daryl jerked his hands away from Rick’s so he could bring them around to touch the heat of the other man’s body. One hand ended up on Rick’s waist, and the other on Rick’s shoulder. Rick shuddered against him and pulled away from the kiss to gasp something, some question that Daryl could barely hear and cared even less about until he realized that Rick was stopping- _why was he stopping?_

 

Daryl pulled away slightly, before rubbing his pelvis against Rick’s in a filthy grind.

 

“This... _Shit_ , Daryl. This okay?”

 

Rick’s low voice did things to him, and Daryl immediately decided with what was left of his brain that the words needed to stop, and more of the feel of Rick against his cock needed to start. He blinked a little stupidly, then leaned forward to scrape his teeth over the pale expanse of Rick’s neck.

 

Rick absolutely melted, and groaned, low in his throat.

 

Daryl grinned and pulled away. “Is _that_ okay?” Rick hauled his lower body closer by Daryl’s belt loops and Daryl rewarded him with another scrape of teeth and the feel of his tongue to soothe the sore spot on Rick’s neck. He wanted to do that to Rick’s jaw but didn’t want to get a mouth full of beard, so he compromised.

 

Lightning flashed again, and Daryl tilted his hips just _so,_ seeking out more of that amazing friction. RIck met him move for move, thrust for thrust and Daryl was _there_ he was so fucking _close--_

 

“Rick? Daryl?”

 

They both froze in place before jerking away from each other. Glenn’s voice wasn’t close, but hearing it caused reality to crash into them both with all of the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

 

What the fuck were they _doing?_ Daryl had been so involved in the fact that he could actually _feel_ something, that he wasn’t numb, or _dead_ that he’d forgotten certain cold, hard truths like what the fuck was Rick Grimes doin’ kissing him... and what was he doing kissing him _back_?

 

Daryl pushed at Rick with his hands again, and Rick stumbled as he tripped backwards, catching himself on the doorjamb. Rick wouldn't even look at him. He left the little outbuilding without a word to Daryl or about what they’d done, calling out to Glenn.

 

Daryl shook his head, feeling like he’d lost something that he never even knew that he had. Oh, yeah, he wasn’t particularly picky when it came to sex and the gender of the person providing it, but Rick absolutelyfuckingcertainly _was._ He’d kissed Daryl in... something. Rage? Hurt? Just to get him to shut the hell up? And Daryl had responded by practically dry humping the man into submission, greedily seeking out his own pleasure.

 

Jesus _Christ_.

 

It took him ten minutes to find the courage to figure out how to apologize, and another five before he could make his way back. When he made it back to the barn, Daryl was so agitated that he barely remembered to put the chain on the doors. He could see that people were talking quietly in various parts of the barn, and some had bedded down for the night. He paced, glad that no one was there to greet him. He didn’t think he could face any of them at the moment. The wind seemed like it shared Daryl’s mood. It had picked up to something more like a wail as it caused the barn doors to shake. Daryl set his crossbow to the side and went to go latch the doors.

 

What he saw made him gasp in shock.

 

The lightning illuminated a small herd of walkers, drawn to the barn by the noise of the storm and the sound of the rattling wood. He didn’t know how he had missed seeing them before, and figured that Gabriel’s god really did protect fools and children both, because it had been the dumbest luck that the outbuilding was at the opposite end from where the walkers now gathered.

 

He fumbled to latch the barn door, too terrified to call out to anyone. Whatever sense he had dribbled out of him like water down a drain. It took all of his weight to keep them back, and even then Daryl knew that his strength wouldn’t last long like this. One piece of chain against a whole herd? Not a chance. But he couldn’t give up. He just needed...

 

Maggie came out of nowhere, flinging her slight body against the door to his left, using everything she had to keep the walkers back. Sasha ran up to his right, and with the three of them, Daryl was able to better brace his footing. They gave everything they had, desperation causing them to work in tandem; just knowing what each of them could do, and what needed to be done.

 

By then, the others had realized what was happening. Daryl had just enough time to feel Rick’s body at his side, then Glenn, and Carol, Michonne and Tara. Noah dug in at his right, and Abraham slammed into them all from the back, reaching up and pushing at the doors like he could single-handedly keep them from opening by his brute strength alone. Rosita and Gabriel were praying as they strained against the force of the walkers, and Eugene and Carl wormed their way low, pressing against the doors from the bottom. Daryl felt his feet sliding in the mud and knew that it wasn’t just the walkers they were fighting, but the storm itself. It was only when they all were fighting with everything they had left, working together, that they were able to maintain their strength enough to really fight. They heard the shriek of the wind and the scream of the walkers, and after awhile it all bled together with the thunder and the roar of the rain.

 

None of them gave up for the long minutes it took for the wind to stop. It could have been minutes or hours. Hell, it could have been days. The roof rattled several times, and once Daryl swore he heard somebody laughing hysterically. Eventually, the sound of the rain changed, slowly becoming the calm sound of the rain from before, rather than the terrifying freight-train sound of the tornado. Daryl had been in one when he was a kid, and he knew that he would never forgot that sound.

 

Of course, being in a barn, outside in the midst of one was a new experience that he didn’t much feel like repeating.

 

“You think... it’s okay?” Carl’s voice was shaky as hell and Daryl figured the teenager was about three seconds from bursting into tears.

 

“Yeah. Don’t feel the pushback anymore,” Abraham said, reaching down to help Rosita up. She was covered in mud but her smile was bright with relief. Slowly, like they couldn’t quite believe it, the people in their group moved away from the door, waiting for something to go ‘haha just kidding’ and start trying to get in again.

 

“Yeah- figured all y’all needed was my awesome strength.” Carl flexed his skinny arms and took a step away from where they’d all been tangled, pushing for god knew how long at the doors.

 

There was a long, heavy silence.

 

The sound of laughter might have carried a more than slight overtone of hysteria, but it was enough. It was more than enough. Exhausted, they all began laying down for the night. Daryl didn’t give himself time to think about the fact that Rick wouldn’t even fuckin’ _look_ at him. He busied himself with Judith (which it wasn’t like Daryl could fault him, but goddamnit this was about twelve shades beyond awkward) and went to sleep. 

 

“I got watch,” he said to no one in particular, and sat with his back to the back of the barn, a silent sentry to keep his family safe. No one argued with him, and Daryl knew that even from this far away, if anything tried to break through the barn doors, they’d do it with the shaft of an arrow protruding from their head.

 

No one could quite bear to keep anyone else out of their sight. Instead of using all the stalls, and the little office where the old lady walker had been, they all bedded down in the main area, making little pallets out of straw and sharing blankets. Daryl knew that tonight, there’d be no sleep for him. He was too wired. He could sit here and keep his people safe. That was no problem. There were only about two or three hours left of the night anyway.

 

Keeping his mind blank of everything that had happened though... that wasn’t as easy.

  
  


**_TBC!_ **

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the amazingly talented [ skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha) who is insane enough to look at this in its unbeta’d form.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Sooo... I had one of those freak-outs, where I was frustrated that I was essentially rushing through the chapters, so I decided that rather than just fly through things I'd write as I could. It sounds so pretentious to say that out loud (well type it so you can read it lol) but I was actually panicking because I had promised you guys a consistent posting schedule. I'm still working on this, but the chapters are longer than normal, so it does take me some time.
> 
> Thank you to fabulous people in the RWG who talked me off the ledge!
> 
> Some thanks for this chapter. As always- to Jen who I dragged into this fandom kicking and screaming. She helped me with the Daryl and Carol part, and let me talk it through. To MaroonCamaro who did a read through when I was stuck, and to Skari for the awesome beta. (She's nice enough not to pull out her hair when instead of giving her 5000 word chapters like a normal person I'm like 'uhh, the first part is 4000 words....' 
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for subscribing, and reading, and sticking with me. Have quite a bit of ways to go. ;)


	10. Illustration for chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rick’s lips crashed into his, halting the flow of words. Daryl felt every single muscle in his body freeze in absolute and utter shock. Rick’s beard scratched against his own, and their teeth clacked together painfully. RIck pulled away for a second, and they stared at each other in mutual suspicion, each waiting for the other to do something that involved a fist to a tender body part. Daryl could not make himself move for the absolute life of him. He flexed his wrists against Rick’s hold, and sucked in a quick breath before deliberately licking his swollen lip and staring back at Rick, silent, daring him to take it further."


	11. Like a Leper Messiah

 

**Chapter 6- Like a Leper Messiah**

 

Rick figured that there was a finite amount of fuckery people could reasonably expect to deal with before they lost their shit. He didn’t bother apologizing for his actions. He was way beyond that. He reacted to situations as they presented themselves, and that was that.

 

The problem with thinking that way was in this case, Rick didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. He wasn’t the person losing their shit in this situation- he was the _fuckery_.

 

If anyone had ever done to him what he’d done to Daryl, Rick would have decked them. Not the kissing part, because he’d been kissed once by a very drunk friend at a party and there had been no punching. Awkwardly hard dicks and tearful confessions to Lori (who’d been his girlfriend at the time, but everyone knew they’d be married soon enough), yes. Punching, no.

 

The fact that Daryl had felt like he _owed_ something to any of them had made Rick see red. He’d meant what he said- it was ridiculous that Daryl felt like he was somehow _less_ than anyone else. The fact that he’d been thinking about that, feeling that for so long... it just wasn’t right. Now, Rick knew who was at fault for letting those two girls into their camp, and it sure as shit wasn’t Daryl. Rick wouldn’t make that same mistake again. They’d just fuckin’ instituted the first post-apocalyptic stranger-danger program. The blame for having to do that stood squarely on his _own_ shoulders. The fact that he’d said something horrible to Daryl in reaction and panic when Judith was hurt was even worse; lashing out at the victim instead of the person who had hurt them was absolutely despicable.

 

The way that Daryl had saved all of them after... Rick didn’t know how he was gonna pay him back for that. Rick had slunk inside the barn making sure not to think about anything that happened in the rain. He had done such a good job of slinking, in fact, that it had taken Rick a while to realise that there was something wrong- that Daryl wasn't just standing there, but he was trying to protect them. _Again_ Daryl had put himself at risk to keep his family safe, but Rick found that he was still so ashamed of the way he had treated the other man that even after when everyone was okay he found that he still couldn't look Daryl in the eyes.

 

Rick could not believe that he had done that. Pathetic or not, he found that if he actually took the time to think about what he had done, to remember it in all with lurid detail, that he couldn't stop thinking about Daryl’s lips, or the way they had rocked against each other- it was too much.

 

So instead of dealing with it, Rick pushed it way down deep, deeper than his guilt over how Lori had died, deeper than the way his heart broke a little every time he saw Carl pick up a weapon to defend his sister.

 

There just wasn't time for that shit.

 

The former of the owner of the barn didn’t have any food, and when Judith woke up smiling sleepily up at Rick, he knew it was just a matter of time before the sweet baby gurgles changed to insistent, hungry cries. The barn door opening wasn’t enough to startle them all into sudden action, but the sound of a squeaky shoe- like dropping a glass full of pennies in the middle of a dead silent library- _was._ A sound like that was completely anachronistic; something that belonged to a long-dead world. Maggie and Sasha stood there, and the fact that there was a man with them had Rosita and Daryl springing into action, like two soldiers defending their territory from an interloper.

 

Everything was just _wrong._

 

The man’s nervous smile was easily dismissed. The fact that he was so... _clean_ was not. He looked like a reject from one of Lori’s JJ Crew catalogs. No blood, no sweat stains, no dirt. His bootlaces still had the fucking plastic on the ends. No sign of fighting, or the too-thin greyness of malnutrition. His clothes didn't even have _wrinkles!_

 

“Hey. Everyone, this is Aaron. We met him outside. He's by himself. We took his weapons and we took his gear.”

 

Rick snatched Judith up and whirled, handing her to Carl so he could move towards the threat.

 

“Hi. It's nice to meet you.”

 

“You said he had a weapon?” Rick took the stranger’s gun and fiddled with it, checking that the safety was on and how many bullets were in it. The gun looked clean, as though it had either been recently cleaned or mostly unused. “There's something you need?” Rick placed the gun at the small of his back, not even trying to be subtle about stealing it.

 

Sasha spoke slowly, some tension in her voice that Rick couldn’t quite parse out. “He has a camp, nearby. He wants us to audition for membership.”

 

The man, Aaron, spoke up then, hands still held up, showing his palms to them all. “I wish there was another word. _Audition_ makes it sound like we're some kind of a dance troupe.” He paused. “That's only on Friday nights.” He waited a beat as though he expected them all to laugh.

 

LIke they had any reason to laugh about meeting new people.

 

“Um, and it's not a camp. It's a community. I think you all would make valuable additions. But it's not my call. My job is to convince you all to follow me back home.”

 

Rick’s eyes met Daryl’s for the first time that morning, briefly, heavy with the weight of what had happened last night and what was happening now. Daryl’s narrow gaze looked away, and Rick blinked, to focus on what was actually being said by the stranger in their midst.

 

“I know.” The man said, sounding painfully earnest. “If I were you, I wouldn't go either. Not until I knew exactly what I was getting into. Sasha, can you hand Rick my pack?”

 

Rick didn’t bat an eye at the obvious power play: Aaron showing that he knew everyone’s names. It made Rick’s skin prickle, but he knew better than to show that he was unnerved. This guy could go out of his way to appear harmless all he wanted, but it was obvious that there was more to him than met the eye.

 

Rick was silent as he looked through the pictures in the little envelope, listening to Aaron drone on about the features of his community, sounding for all the world like a realtor trying to convince a reluctant buyer of a good prospect. He stood up from his crouch and stared at him, listening patiently.

 

“...in fact, there's only one resource more critical to our community's survival.”

 

Rick looked up, the uneasy feeling in his gut causing adrenaline to flood his system, the word ‘community’ ringing in his ears. Instinct had his gaze flicking to his children, then over to Daryl, who stared back at Rick, silent.

 

Aaron continued, blithely. “The people. Together we're strong. You can make us even stronger.”

 

In the next second, Rick was back at Terminus, forced to be separated from Daryl, and Michonne, and Carl. He could still feel the cut on his face where the concrete from the bullets had splintered up and into his skin. His heart beat too fast with adrenaline, the slimy feeling of everything being _wrong_ coating his body in stinking sweat. His whole world was Carl’s terrified, wide eyes and no. _No, he could not lose them both._

 

“The next picture, you'll see inside the gates. Our community was first construc--”

 

Rick blinked. His jaw twitched under his beard, but that was the only outward sign of remembering. He felt closed in, trapped, back in the train car at Terminus. He strolled forward, noticing that everyone else tensed when he moved. Aaron kept speaking. Rick’s fist rocketed out and connected with Aaron’s jaw in a solid right cross punch.

 

After that, it was just clean up.

 

Glenn took care of checking to see if there was an ambush waiting for them, and Daryl had Eugene and Gabriel patrolling the perimeter of the barn, while Rick and Judith watched their prisoner.

 

Well, sort of.

 

Judith’s  plan appeared to be to bend Aaron to her will by making hungry, pathetic, cries of hunger.

 

Rick knew he had trust issues, but it was hard to shake the creepy-crawly feeling of distrust. Maybe he got it wrong. Maybe this _was_ the one nice guy in all that was left of the world. Maybe he was overreacting, still burned by what Emma and Hannah had done, still fucked up from... what did they call it? Post-Traumatic Stress? Shit, if so they all were. Seeing all they’d seen couldn’t possibly be good for their continued sanity.

 

...but what if he wasn’t? What if all that _wasn’t_ in his head?

 

Rick glared at Aaron while Judith ate her applesauce, his thoughts dark with ‘what-if’ and ‘maybe’.

 

****

 

Michonne had a way about her that just calmed Rick the fuck down.

 

God knew why. She was just as lethal as her katana under the right circumstances. Whatever lingering sexism Rick had had at the start of all this- big man protecting the womenfolk- pretty much got knocked over on its ass the first time he’d gotten a look at how absolutely flawlessly she took care of anything that wanted to harm her or hers: living or dead.

 

Some of that had to be from where she’d been. Where _Rick_ had been when they’d met. He’d flirted with crazy more than once, and recognized it when he saw it. Something in the lingering shame in her eyes, or the nervous set of her shoulders, the way she’d tipped her chin up stubbornly when she told him something she knew Rick wouldn’t want to hear.

 

Rick knew that whatever relationship she’d had with Andrea had pulled her back from her own demons, and the relationship she’d had with his son had kept her from flirting with that line any more than the rest of them had.

 

He heard her footsteps crunching on the gravel that led to the barn and turned.

 

“I’m thinking that you, me, and Glenn drive with that guy.” Rick jerked his head towards the ancient Olds. “Carl and Judith are safer in there.”

 

Something on Michonne’s face twigged Rick onto the fact that she was unsure of him. He looked up at her from his crouch. “You okay?” Rick wasn’t just asking to ask. He hadn’t checked in with her in awhile, and found that he needed to really know the answer. With the sickly-yellow stench of shame that hung around Rick like the dirt in that kid from the old _Peanuts_ cartoon given what he’d done to Daryl, Rick found that he really needed to know. He needed to know that someone was still with him.

 

“When you said that we were going, was that for real? Or are you just trying to get this guy to tell you where his camp is?”

 

RIck swallowed. He tried not to notice how much it shook him that Michonne obviously wasn’t sure of the answer. Earlier, when Daryl had agreed to go, with what was for him a joke about horseshit, he had looked at Rick full on. In his eyes was the weight of everything that had happened, and the desperate desire for “normal.” Rick got that. He understood that with every bone in his body. He just wasn’t entirely sure if this place was gonna give them ‘normal’ or some fucked up, post-apocalyptic version of normal.

 

Seeing the same desperation in Michonne’s steady brown gaze made RIck’s throat tight. He’d followed her lead on this, on going towards DC, on taking a chance, and here they were. He leaned against the open door, staring at her, wanting her to understand. “We're going.”

 

“Whatever it takes to get there.” She paused, then spoke again, her voice shaking. She let him hear her own desperation, not trying to hide anything from him. “Just as long as we get there.”

 

Rick nodded a little, habit having him look out at the recently-cleaned landscape of the tornado before looking back at the deceptively-calm woman in front of him. Michonne was tensed like a spring, ready to explode into action if Rick didn’t tell her what she knew to be true. He cocked his head. “When you first came up on the walls outside Woodbury, what did you hear?”

 

Michonne blinked, thrown. “Nothing.”

 

“And Terminus?” She knew what it cost him to mention that place. None of them ever did anymore, for all that they had only escaped a month or so ago.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Rick nodded again, shifting a little on his booted feet. “Sometime tonight, we'll be outside his camp's walls. And without seeing inside, I'm gonna have to decide whether to bring my family in.” Michonne made a small sound and Rick continued. “He asked me before what it would take for me to believe it was real. Truth is I'm not sure if _anything_ could convince me to go in there. But I'm gonna see. I'm gonna see.”

 

“And you’re not gonna do it alone.” Her voice was low, and for a second Rick thought that Michonne was going to hug him. The fact that he was just thrown enough to let her was a surprise. “I get that you’re in charge. Everyone does, Rick and we’ve been far enough together that there’s not one person in there who would think any less of you if this place turns out _not_ to be what we need. What Carl, and Judith, and everyone else needs.” She stepped closer to touch his elbow, a small gesture of camaraderie and loyalty that made Rick’s throat tighten. “You are there for us, Rick. God knows we all know it. But just... just don’t forget that we’re here. For you, too.” He nodded and turned again to go over the interior of the Oldsmobile with eyes sharp enough so that he hopefully wouldn’t miss anything.

 

If that sharp gaze was a little wet, then that wasn’t anyone’s business but his.

 

******

Sometimes, Rick reflected, his life was entire stretches of terror spiced through with occasional stretches of adrenaline-fueled boredom. Driving through a small herd of walkers and the chaos that had ensued after had only driven home how much he was just absolutely fucking sick of being out here in this shit. They needed a _home_. They needed it more than ever, now.

 

Since he absolutely refused to believe that his people in the RV wouldn’t be completely safe, strolling into the town was rather anti-climactic.

 

Not that his knees didn’t go weak when he whistled their ‘approach’ whistle and heard Daryl’s ‘safe’ response. When Carl came barreling out to throw his arms around Rick’s waist, he realized just how fucking lucky he really was, that if feeling like _this_ was really anti-climactic then he was already too far gone. Daryl was just a solid presence at his side, obviously keeping watch for them and just as obviously not willing to leave now that they were known to be safe. To their left, Maggie came flying out of a building, only to jump into Glenn’s arms like a heroine in a romance novel. Rick smirked a little and he looked down at Carl who had pulled away, obviously embarrassed by his outburst. “Your sister okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Rick looked up at Daryl, whose calm gaze hadn’t left his. They shook hands, and Rick tried not to notice the sensation of Daryl’s calluses against the smooth skin of his hands. It was more difficult than it should be.

 

“Yeah, we're fine,” he answered without Rick needing to ask the question. He’d already whistled that everyone was safe, but knew that Rick would want to hear the words too. Rick had a sudden, body-clenching memory of he and Daryl wrapped around each other, mouths and tongues and bodies competing for space, and forced himself to look around the small room they were squatting in for the night. It looked to be an older building, with few windows. A car shop maybe, or what would have been a detail shop in the old days.

 

Aaron practically pushed them out of the way of the door, barreling past Abraham like a linebacker through the opposing team’s offense in search of a quarterback. “Eric? Eric? _Eric_?”

 

“In here!”

 

Rick’s gaze met Daryl’s again, who shrugged with one shoulder. Aaron pushed past the two of them into the other room, and the sound of talking then very obvious _not_ -talking was heard. Maggie stared at her husband with a funny smirk that got wider when Glenn ducked his head and blushed. Carol sat with Judith and Carl in the corner. She offered Rick a slight smile as she saw to some wood for a small campfire, while Abraham, Gabriel and Eugene worked to make sure all the windows were covered and blocked. Eugene, Rick noted, was trying his best to do whatever Abraham did, only with much less success. He’d noticed that the guy had finally started to pitch in a little more, and made a mental note to have Rosita try to show him some basic self-defense. She didn’t seem as unholy pissed off at him as Abraham did, and probably would only make him grovel a little. Or maybe Tara. She and Eugene had hit it off pretty solidly. Maybe it would be better to urge him in Tara’s direction. For a new member of their group, she’d done more than her share of pitching in. From their fist bump on, it seemed as though she was ready to throw in her lot with them, no matter what.

 

Rick’s gaze fell on Noah, who was still keeping to himself, and Sasha, who had taken her rifle and etched out a spot from which to keep watch. The line of her body a was pretty damn clear message for all of them to fuck off and leave her alone.

 

Rick pinched the top of his nose, between his eyes and tried to ignore the headache that was threatening. He knew he had to get in there and see what Aaron was up to. Just because he was concerned for his... partner, didn’t mean that he was an automatic good guy. Just because Rick wanted to trust him didn’t mean that it was anything close to safe to do so.

 

He stepped back into a shop area. Rick knew that Daryl and Carol and the rest would have cleared the garage, but the dim shapes of cars that would never be finished made Rick wish for a sunlit day and a clear line of sight. The skylight let in a light from the moon, but hardly enough to keep the large space brightly lit.

 

“I lost the car.” Aaron’s voice was low as he held the other man’s hand in his. He laughed a little, and Rick couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he was. “Maybe it's for the best.”

 

“That monstrosity out front can run. It's so ugly, it'll scare the roamers away!”

 

Rick made a scraping sound with his boot- interrupting without being too obvious about it- and the other man looked up at him with a big smile. “Hi. I'm Eric.”

 

Rick nodded, “Rick,” he said, introducing himself. He caught Aaron’s gaze and jerked his head a little. Eric’s gaze sharpened, some of his smile falling away. Rick saw that his hand tightened on Aaron’s, and had to force himself not to feel guilty at separating them. Most times, Rick couldn’t tell if someone was gay or not. This though, felt like a pretty sure bet. The dude wore a scarf thing after the end of the fucking world, for Christ’s sake. Rick’s lips twitched, and he told himself not to be a dick. The way that the two of them shared each other’s space was obvious enough, if you knew what to look for. They held pinkies, like they couldn’t quite bear not to be touching one another.

 

It was... cute.

 

“It's okay.” Aaron leaned forward for a quick kiss then stood up, walking towards Rick. He brushed past him, walking out into the room they’d all bunched into. Rick was tired enough to feel a tad claustrophobic with the limited amount of space and the number of people in that space; he knew a few of them would probably stay in the RV, but that still left a lot of people to stretch out.

 

“Excuse me. Excuse me. Everyone.”

 

Aaron’s whole demeanor had changed to relaxed. Given that watching that man address his people caused his stress-levels to skyrocket, it immediately put Rick on edge.

 

“Thank you. You saved Eric. I owe you. _All_ of you. And I will make sure that debt is paid in full when we get to our community. When we get to _Alexandria_.” The name hung in the stale air of the machine shop like some tangible thing. “Now, I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather not do any more driving tonight. Maybe we can hit the road tomorrow morning.”

 

Rick cocked an eyebrow. Aaron wasn’t the first person to try to put his opinion out there, but he hadn’t earned the right to start dictating what they’d be doing. “That sounds fine. But if we're staying here for the night, you're sleeping over there.” He pointed to a bare corner of the shop, more to see what Aaron would do, than for any real desire to keep him from his lover. (Partner? Boyfriend? Rick wasn’t exactly sure of the lingo.) It was pretty obvious that that Eric guy had the survival instincts of a lemming. He hadn’t even gone for a weapon when Rick had interrupted them, just introduced himself as though they were halfway to becoming the bestest of friends.

 

“You really think we got to do that?” Maggie’s low drawl sounded shocked at Rick’s decision.

 

“It's the safe play.” Rick shrugged. “We don't know you.”

 

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders tightening into something more aggressive. “The only way you're gonna stop me from being with him right now is by shooting me.” His entire body language had changed at Rick’s mention of keeping him away from Eric.

  
Rick hid the small spark of understanding. Finally, the man had done something he could trust. Protectiveness was something Rick could empathize with. Something he could understand. Plus, it was kind of hilarious how every single one of his people flinched at the same time, at Aaron’s dare.

 

Glenn though, must have thought he was about to reach for his Colt. “Whoa. Rick, he told us where the camp is. And he really was only travelling with one other person. They're both unarmed. One of them's got a broken ankle. I want us to be safe, too.” Glenn’’s voice wavered, and all of the sudden it became less about testing Aaron and more about giving  Glenn and by extension the rest of their family, what they so desperately wanted. Needed, even. He watched as Glenn  took a shaky breath. “I can't give up everything else. I know what I said, but it _does_ matter.”

 

“All right.” Rick actually took a step back, and like that the tension in the room dissipated. “Let’s get food divvied out, and sleepin’ arrangements situated, and we can take the rest of the night. We can leave in the mornin’, like Aaron said.”

 

Aaron took it for the olive branch that it was and nodded. The little smile on his face told Rick that he knew exactly what little drama had just gone on here, and Rick understood that this man was not quite the pushover he seemed at first impression.

 

Aaron walked pointedly by Rick to be with Eric and Rick just nodded, not wanting to antagonize the situation any further.

 

“Dad, Carol’s showing me how to make rice. Judith is eating it like it’s her job. We didn’t have any meat, but it’s not bad with some of the mixed veggies.”

 

Rick raised an eyebrow. Carl’s attempts at making rice were known far and wide as... well. “Creative” was one word for it. “Crunchy” was another. Sometimes, “burnt” also worked. Rick managed to keep a straight face-Carol only let him cook when they had food to... well, it didn’t really go to waste, but she insisted he needed some room to learn, and cooking rice on a campfire was difficult. She nodded with a little smirk, and Rick’s careful, blank look morphed into something a lot more genuinely appreciative.

 

Rick still couldn’t manage to make much other than warming up a can of whatever was inside the can. Even then he could manage to scorch half and leave the other half cold. Rick joked exactly one time that cooking was a woman’s job, and he was pretty sure his balls had permanently hiked up to his stomach in pure fear after all the women: Carol, Sasha, Michonne, Maggie, Tara and Rosita had turned as one to stare at him. Abraham had muttered something under his breath about stupid and brave and had quickly found something else to do.

 

“Hey, Rick? Needa minute.”

 

Rick almost dropped his portion of the rice and veggies at the low thrum of Daryl’s voice from behind him. He managed not to drop the food, and looked around at his people. Glenn and Maggie had volunteered to keep watch in the RV quickly enough that it left no doubt in almost anyone’s mind exactly what they’d be doing in the RV’s bedroom, and it had only been funnier when Gabriel had offered to help. Glenn had managed to turn him down with a straight face, and Abraham and Tara had volunteered to do the actual watching while Gabriel look mortified, and Rosita ignored the conversation.

 

Rick could see that things weren’t perfect between Abraham and his girlfriend, especially with them seeing what Rick and Daryl had seen on top of Abraham’s breakdown when he found out that Eugene had lied to him. Rosita made a pointed decision to bunk down with Eugene, and that spoke volumes, Rick supposed.

 

Sasha volunteered to do a perimeter sweep, and Michonne rolled her eyes and followed her. Rick knew that Sasha had gotten some sleep, but it was pretty obvious that Michonne hadn’t, so between the two of them, Sasha’s brooding sweep would probably be cut down to an hour or so.

 

Carol, Carl, and Judith managed to squeeze together on a couch, after plopping Judith in a wooden crate, covered in a shop blanket for a crib. At eight and a half months old, Carl had been so people shy that Lori had been worried. Judith loved her family, and would go to any of her “main” people with no problem.

 

(She was also pretty fond of Abraham’s moustache, much to his dismay.)

 

Rick realized that he’d been hogging Judith to himself after she was almost taken by the two girls, and figured she’d be okay. Carol... Carol could use some time with her too.

 

“Yeah- there were some cars in that garage. We could go sit in one of those, for a little bit. Be comfortable while I eat.”

 

Daryl nodded and walked through the door.

 

Gabriel sat near Noah, staring off into space, looking forlorn. Rick made a mental note to talk to him, to make sure he knew how things were. At this point, Rick’s mental notes needed a social secretary. Leaving Gabriel off by himself to stew wasn’t a good idea, and Noah didn’t need to be preached to right now. Well, if Noah wanted the comfort, that was fine, but Rick didn’t much like the idea of Gabriel bringing back any of that old time religion and using it... well. That was a problem for another day.

 

Rick went through the doorway, and saw that Eric and Aaron were curled around each other. Their easy intimacy made him blush for some absolutely humiliating reason, and Rick was glad that it was dark enough that no one would tell.

 

“He went back that way,” Eric pointed, friendly enough. Aaron just ignored him, concentrating on kissing Eric’s knuckles.

 

There was an old rusty F150 that was forever on the lift, at least until someone turned on the power. To the left was what would have been a new camaro, maroon in color. Someone had taken good care of this car. The body was perfect: shiny and hinting at the bad boy under the hood.

 

Of course the fact that looters had scooped out all the useful engine parts long before Rick and his family got to the machine shop was besides the point. Daryl sat behind the driver’s seat, idly tapping out the beat of some long-forgotten song on the steering wheel. Rick couldn’t help brushing his hand along the smooth exterior, a quick fantasy of driving something like this down an endless, empty road popping into his head.

 

“Damn nice car,” Daryl said as Rick opened the passenger side and got in.

 

The all-leather interior _was_ pretty damn nice, truth be told. The seat cradled Rick’s ass like it was made for him. It was a bit weird to have access to something so comfortable, but he had no problems putting his seat back and inhaling his dinner. (Or very early breakfast, depending on how he looked at it.)

 

Daryl huffed a breath, and Rick paused mid-forkfull, looking over at him in the shadowy darkness. “I wanted to apologize for .... what I did back there. At the barn.”

 

To this point, Rick had managed being this close to Daryl without thinking too closely about what they had done together. What _he_ had done to Daryl. Well, _with_ Daryl while desperate and pissed off and in the rain. He slowly continued eating, while trying not not to show just how carefully he was listening; appearing nonchalant while he practically counted every breath Daryl took.

 

“Hmm?” Rick asked, without actually asking anything.

 

“You know.” Daryl turned to him in the close confines of the car, and Rick swallowed hard. He became suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of their position, both of them in the maroon camaro with the seats pushed way back, in the dark, far enough away from anyone in their group that for all intents and purposes they were the only ones here. Rick’s heart sped up, the leftover adrenaline from meeting up with part of the walker herd making his pulse thrum with awareness. Daryl was a solid presence next to him.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Rick shifted towards Daryl, wondering if maybe... just _maybe_.... Their kiss flashed in his mind’s eye and he licked his bottom lip nervously.

 

“I just wanted you to know I get it. Why it happened. And it won’t happen again.”

 

Rick’s throat tightened and he winced inwardly, hoping it hadn’t been too obvious what he had been thinking about doing. “It won’t. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so....” Pissed. Desperate. Wanting. “...weird about it after. And I want to be clear on one thing, man. You are...” Rick trailed off, mind blanking for a word that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete moron. “... you are as much of us as anyone is, Daryl. I meant when I said you were my brother.”

 

Rick winced, inwardly. _Brother_ wasn’t exactly what he had been feeling a few seconds ago, but Daryl had made himself pretty clear.

 

The two of them were quiet for several minutes.

 

“What do you think about Aaron?” Daryl’s low voice startled Rick after so many minutes of silence.

 

Rick shrugged, finishing the last of Carl’s rice and veggies. “He was worried about his... friend.” Rick still didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to call it. Boyfriend? Partner?

 

“Yeah.”

 

The conversation was stilted and awkward in a way that Rick didn’t much like. He sighed. If there was going to be an attempt at an actual conversation, it was going to have to come from Rick. Expecting Daryl to talk was a lot like waiting with bated breath to win the lottery: sometimes you got lucky, but usually you just got frustrated while waiting.

 

“Mostly- I just want things to be ... normal. Or, as normal as they can be with all this. I want... Carl to have a friend his own damn age, and not to be terrified that Judith will start crying at the wrong time.” Rick paused, gathering his thoughts.

 

Daryl turned to look at him, the shadows in the garage cutting across his face so that only his eyes were visible in the low light that came in from the building’s skylight.

 

“I want those walls. I want some place we can all....” Rick trailed off. He shrugged. “Be _normal_ ,” he repeated with a little more emphasis. It was a stupid thing to wish for, but....

 

Rick swallowed hard, stretching out in the soft leather seats and closing his eyes. He was pretty sure he could sleep here, once he did a final check of the perimeter. He was really fucking tired, and wanted nothing more than a few hours of non-stressed out shuteye. Daryl shifted in the seat behind him. Rick thought that the silence between them was quite a bit more relaxed, without the weird note of strain from before.

 

If this were another sort of life, he and Daryl would be.... on a road trip maybe. In a car like this, of course. Less dust, less completely stripped for engine parts, more sweet horsepower in a sleek, steel street machine. The engine would purr when Daryl tapped the gas, like it was just waiting to jump into the speed the camaro was designed for. Maybe there would be a convertible, and the top would be down, so that the wind whipped their hair. It would be just before sunset. In the desert maybe. Something would be on the radio. The Doors maybe, or The Eagles. Maybe Hank Williams Jr or Alabama. Something they both knew the words to. The night would smell like sage and the basalt from the heat baking the rocks. The pavement would.... stretch out.... forever....

 

Rick slept.

 

****

Rick felt like every single muscle in his body was tight with nerves. He had a huge headache, and for a second, was afraid that he was dreaming again, that he had never woken up from the dream he’d had about him and Daryl, alone, driving through the desert night. He put the hunk of junk Buick into park, heartbeat beating so strongly in his throat that he was afraid that Michonne could see it next to him. In front of him were a set of iron gates, that looked like a double- setup. The steel he could see looked sturdy, and he immediately began thinking of ways that this had to be too fucking good to be true, like the prison had been, like Woodbury, like .... Terminus.

 

Rick took a deep breath, shut his eyes, listening.

 

The sounds washed over him like the misty, sweet rain after a long drought. There was music playing. Actual _music_ ! A child’s voice shrieked in laughter and other childish voices answered. He could hear the low buzz of chatter, obviously belonging to several people but too indistinct to make out actual conversations. Rick opened his eyes, and breathed for what felt like the first time in _years._ His skin prickled with goosebumps, and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.

 

“You ready?” Michonne's voice was low, a note of absolute understanding. She was obviously trying not to grin, having heard the same things he had heard.

 

“Yeah.” His voice came out, cracked, barely there, the sound struggling to emerge from a barren and uncooperative throat. He tried again. “Yeah.” Rick shut off the car, the simple act seeming utterly final and hopeful at the same time.

 

He got out of the car, then opened the back door. “Hey.” Rick bent down to pick up Judith who had managed to flip over by herself. Carol had already slid out of the car on her side, boot heels crunching on the gravel left on the pavement. He heard Michonne shut her door, and reached into the car. “Hey, sweetheart.” Judith cooed a little, smiling her drool-filled grin. “Come here.” Rick picked her up, cuddling her close to him for just a second, smelling the baby shampoo in her hair and trying to keep himself calm. It _sounded_ good, but that was just one sense. This place... this _Alexandria_ could still be too goddamn good to be true.

 

Carol snorted behind him, breaking the moment. Probably on purpose, knowing her. That woman knew everything about him, almost before he did.

 

“Even though you were wrong, you were still right.”

 

Yep. That was Carol, all right. Rick chuckled a little, hefting Judith into a better hold on his hip. He kissed her forehead.

 

“Should we go?”

 

It was time for Aaron to put his money where his mouth was.

 

It was time to check out Alexandria.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the amazingly talented [ skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha) who is insane enough to look at this in its unbeta’d form!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Also thank you for continuing to read, even though I write so damn slowly. <3 It means a lot!


	12. Illustration for chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And you’re not gonna do it alone.” Her voice was low, and for a second Rick thought that Michonne was going to hug him. The fact that he was just thrown enough to let her was a surprise. “I get that you’re in charge. Everyone does, Rick and we’ve been far enough together that there’s not one person in there who would think any less of you if this place turns out not to be what we need. What Carl, and Judith, and everyone else needs.” She stepped closer to touch his elbow, a small gesture of camaraderie and loyalty that made Rick’s throat tighten. “You are there for us, Rick. God knows we all know it. But just... just don’t forget that we’re here. For you, too.” He nodded and turned again to go over the interior of the Oldsmobile with eyes sharp enough so that he hopefully wouldn’t miss anything.?"


	13. Into The Void- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 (Part 1/3)

**AN:  Sorry guys! You know that I usually write these monster-ass chapters, but RL is doing the thing that RL often does, and rather than make you wait for another week for a chapter, I decided to break this into parts. Sorry to flub up the Daryl one chapter, Rick next chapter vibe I had going on, but hopefully you won’t hate me too much. If you want to wait a week or so to read, that’s fine. This part will be broken into three parts. (Essentially, going mostly through the first part of s 6.)**

**Chapter 7- Into The Void**

Daryl couldn’t help but feel nervous about the way Aaron, and that old chick, Deanna, asked all of them to sit separately outside of the huge, white house while each of them were interviewed. He didn’t much like being separated from Rick, and he for damn sure didn’t like that they were all basically sitting ducks out here in her yard. A sniper and a high-powered rifle could take care of all of ‘em before they could do much more than blink.

The whole town looked like something out of a horror movie (which was _really_ fucking funny when he thought about it, considering the megawatt freakshow outside of the walls), but the too-perfect yards, the painted houses and the occasional shiny vehicle in the driveways all gave Daryl a creepy-crawly feeling, like ants crawling just under his skin.  It looked like life hadn’t changed inside of Alexandria’s walls.  Daryl didn’t know how that could be possible, but that’s what his eyes were tellin’ him, and until now he’d never had a reason to doubt them. That feeling of _wrong_ caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. It was hard to notice the rank stench of nervous sweat with as filthy as they all were, but Daryl could feel the gentle breeze cooling the moisture on his skin, and knew what it was.

“This isn’t right,” Noah said, frowning. Eugene handed him a bottle of water and with a slight raise of his eyebrows that fairly telegraphed his shock, he twisted off the sealed cap.  Daryl felt his own mouth get paper-dry in envy as Noah drank the clean, fresh water.  

 _Shit._  Daryl couldn’t even _remember_ the last damn time he’d had water that wasn’t boiled flat or slightly gritty from a hasty filter. But Aaron had given the water to Noah, and Carl, and some of the women, so Daryl didn’t much think he had a reason to complain. They were getting the water and that was just fine.

“How long are we supposed to stay here?”  Gabriel sounded downright testy. Without his priest’s collar, he looked a little more rumpled than all of the rest of them, like a man who’d gone to a business meeting and had lost his suit jacket and briefcase. He didn’t have the rugged, filthy look that the rest of them had just accepted as a new version of normal. He wasn’t as new-looking as Aaron had been when he’d cautiously walked into the barn that they’d claimed, but he still wasn't one of them. Not in any of the ways that mattered.

“Deanna will... oh. Here she is.” Aaron’s smile was a little too large as he looked at the diminutive woman who smiled back, nodding just slightly. Daryl knew whatever test they’d had; whether it was an actual audition or not, they’d passed.

Daryl didn’t know how he felt about that.

“I’d like to talk to Mr. Dixon, please.”

Daryl ignored the jump of nerves in his gut and followed the community’s leader to her living room. It reminded him of being called into the principal’s office.  He blinked a few times, staring in shock at his surroundings. It was... It looked like something out of a magazine. _Better_ _Homes and Rich Assholes_ , or something. Shit. Not like Daryl read that stuff. He recognized the trappings of wealth in the way that anyone who had ever lived without always seemed to. The scent of lemon polish made Daryl very, very aware that he was painfully out of place here, like a mule in a room full of thoroughbreds. The woman, Deanna, started asking him questions, and Daryl’s sudden feeling of _wrong_ ratcheted up even further; so high now that he couldn’t even sit down. Instead he prowled the room, snatching a candy and staring out at his family outside of the window, unable to stand keeping his eyes off of them for even a moment. Rick was talking quietly to the rest of them, and Judith and Carl played with a ball on the grass.  Judith’s bright baby-giggle pierced through the open window like a ray of sunshine.

“Daryl? Do you want to be here?”

Daryl froze for a second, feeling like a kid who’d been caught out for doing something naughty.  He shrugged one shoulder. “The boy and the baby deserve a roof. I guess.”

Her face didn’t show anything- even though shame crawled over his skin, blooming bright in Daryl’s cheeks. Of _course_ Carl and the baby deserved a roof. Deserved a life behind these walls. Daryl was being a selfish dick for thinking that this was in any way, shape, or form about _him_ and not Rick’s kids. Disgust squirmed in his gut, and Daryl wanted this interview to be over right the fuck now, before he fucked up all their chances. Daryl was very, very aware of the stench of his body and the grease in his hair. They should have taken Michonne or Glenn and Maggie next. Not someone like him.

Deanna’s smiled emptily, and Daryl made his escape, thankful when Aaron directed him towards their house.  He didn’t need him to. The day that Daryl couldn’t track any of his family was they day they’d be putting a blade in his head and putting him in the ground. The family had been steered towards what looked like a picnic laid out for all of them.  There were no people there, so it wasn’t some kind of fucked up welcome committee, aside from a nervous-looking woman with glasses who was in the process of setting out the food. Rosita and Maggie, hurrying to help. Rick, Carl, and Judith broke off, following Aaron a large, imposing-looking home the next street over. Daryl followed the little Grimes family, looking around without seeming to look around much at all.

Jesus, even the _abandoned_ house was clean. He got there as the door closed behind them.  Daryl heard Rick’s low drawl and Carl’s higher-pitched answer and ignored them, not quite ready to visit anyone yet, to face his own failure and inadequacy. Daryl didn’t know why he wasn’t jumping around in glee at the idea of the potential for being _safe_ after so long, but he couldn’t shake the weird, skin-too-tight feeling.

Maybe he could get this shitty attitude of his under control if he just did something normal.  Gutting and field-dressing the possum was something that would work well enough. Give him something to do at least.  Daryl hunkered down on the porch and gripped his knife, only to tense and spring towards the house at the sound of a low cry and crash.

Daryl opened the door on autopilot, and checked the front room and kitchen. Carl jumped up from the floor, cheeks bright red and biting his lip.

“Shit I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Carl was so distraught that his voice cracked. There was a large bag of oranges (Oranges?! These people had fuckin’ _oranges_ ?!) that had spilled out onto the floor, and what looked like a metal step-ladder that had fallen over on its side.    
  
It took Daryl a good minute before he could get his heart-rate to calm down. Judith, no dummy, had picked up on the tension in the room. Her lips were trembling a little, nervous and scared as she looked up at him and her brother from the mesh of her cage. Daryl walked over to the day crib, only then realizing that the sound he’d been hearing was the shower.

_RIck was taking a shower._

Daryl was glad that he wasn’t facing Carl, because the way his entire body flushed probably made him look like he was having a heart attack. He closed his eyes, seeing Rick once again covered in the downpour of rain, feeling the slide of their tongues pressing against each other and the heated, firm press of muscle and sinew against his own chilled, wet body.

Daryl opened his eyes, forcing the memory away. _No. No more of that, now._ He’d done his best to shut all that down while the two of them were sitting in that sweet camaro, realizing that it was more important that he and Rick stay best friends, _brothers_ instead of anything else. Rick wasn’t interested, and Daryl didn’t know what the fuck he was doin’ on that score, anyway.

He coughed.  “Ain’t no big. Just pick up the pans ‘n’ shit.” He bent to pick up Judith, relaxing when she snuggled into his neck, sniffing a little pathetically from the loud, scary noise that had startled her. “And toss me an orange.”

Carl did, and Judith was interested enough in watching him peel it. It was a bit weird to hitch her on his hip so that he could wash his hands (Jesus _Christ_ they had _soap_ . And _hot water._ ) before feeding her the little pieces of orange.

Judith was quite the fan, gumming them to death and making a mess of the orange juice as it trickled down her drooly chin. Carl cleaned up the kitchen while Daryl tried not to think about the shower, and the three of them spent a quiet moment, sharing orange pieces. He and Carl made an impromptu game of spitting the orange seeds into the sink for a few minutes before Daryl heard the water shut off.

“Almost your turn. Let me know if you need me to watch her. Think I’m gonna head outside for a bit.”

Carl nodded, not asking why Daryl felt that he needed to be outside, which Daryl appreciated. The teenager took his sister and played with her a little, wetting a cloth and cleaning her face and neck of the sweet, sticky juice.

Daryl walked outside, looking around.  There was some nosy-ass neighbor that ducked behind the white curtain. Daryl’s lips tightened and he flipped them off just because he could, then stretched, feeling his back and shoulders pop and crackle.

The ‘okay?’ whistle drifted out from the area where everyone was eating, and Daryl whistled back, not thinking about it. He smelled something that smelled a little too much like fried chicken to be possible, and Daryl found himself clumping down the porch stairs and making his way towards them on the sidewalk before he gave his feet permission to move.  He crashed down so quickly that he kept from knocking into a woman that appeared out of nowhere only by his own reflexes.

“Oh, excuse me. Sorry about that.”  A pretty blonde lady in a ponytail and a blue plaid shirt brushed against Daryl and he froze, shocked by the sweet smell of her rose perfume.  Daryl just grunted, but stopped walking, turning to look over his shoulder when he heard her feet running up the steps. She carried a large plastic basket full of stuff, and it wasn’t too hard to guess where she was going.  Daryl caught a glimpse of Rick sticking his head out of the door, jeans almost sliding off his hips and his entire chest naked before he jerked his head forward, frowning hard at his stupid libido.

Jesus Christ. He needed to find himself some fuckin’ _privacy_ , jerk off, and maybe he’d stop acting so utterly ridiculous. Maybe after everyone was done, he could take a shower. That wouldn’t be too bad. Still, the look of Rick half-naked, something that he’d seen a hundred damn times and not reacted anything close to this way... Daryl turned his neck to look back once more over his shoulder and saw the blonde with the ponytail disappear into the house.  

For some reason, this shocked him so much that Daryl actually tripped.

Daryl decided that his people didn’t need to see him like this, walking with his dick half-hard in his khakis. Fried chicken or not, he wanted to take a walk for a minute, maybe get his shit together. There was a small road that ended in the huge steel walls, and Daryl turned on his heel to head that way.  The walls were sobering. Daryl pressed his hands against them, and sighed, enjoying the cold bite of steel against his palms.  It didn’t help the swirl of something dark and unfamiliar in his gut, but it did help keep him grounded, allowing him time to get his breath.

Still, he had no interest in being around anyone.  Any interest in the chicken became purely academic, especially since the sweet orange juice was still a bright flavor in his mouth.  He felt like an idiot for essentially hiding out of the sight and scope of everyone, but he’d felt so much in the hour that he’d been here that Daryl knew he needed time to process everything. Right now, he still felt like climbing the damn walls and taking his chances out there in reality, where at least he’d be useful.   

Roughly twenty minutes later, he heard the blonde meet everyone else as she left and they started trooping back towards the house, introducing herself as Jessie.  Daryl forced himself up off the wall. It was easier to keep walking once he took the first few steps.  He was feeling out of sorts again, confused and unsure of everything. He didn’t much like the feeling.

“Hey, man.” Glenn smiled, catching sight of him and offering him a bottle of water. The rest of them had made their way from the food to the house, and one-by-one they trooped inside.

Daryl heard a few wolf-whistles, and Abraham’s delighted, “Holy _balls_ , man!” then Rick’s low voice in embarrassed answer.

Daryl crouched down and started to cut open the possum, throwing the guts onto the spotless porch almost defiantly. They landed with a wet-sounding _splat_.

“You want to take a shower?”  

Daryl had been so focused on _not_ listening to Rick that when Rick spoke it startled him into jerking his gaze up. His thumb slipped on the knife, and he felt the white bite of pain on the side of his thumb, near the callus.

Daryl brought his thumb up to his mouth reflexively, tasting the bright-copper taste of his own blood.

Rick had shaved. His eyes seemed bluer under the crazy riot of recently-trimmed curls, and Daryl was quite certain that his own heart stopped for a good two, three heartbeats before starting back up again, pounding in his chest like a drum, as though working overtime to make up for the beats that it had skipped.

“Daryl?” Rick took a step closer.

Daryl jerked his gaze back down to the possum, cleaning it with fingers that shook. This was stupid. _He_ was being stupid. Daryl forced his shoulder into one of his customary shrugs and stayed silent, glad for once that he wasn’t exactly a chatty Cathy; no one would be expecting him to reply, least of all Rick.  Rick walked around the porch for a few minutes, looking around at the houses that surrounded them.

Daryl wondered if he was looking for the blonde, and frowned at himself.

“Go on. Just be careful.”

Daryl had been so focused on his own inner freak-out that he’d missed what Carl had said or done, but it wasn’t too hard to guess. Daryl glanced up just in time to see Carol nod and follow the teenager to the house next door.  Rick might have looked the part of a man relaxed and comfortable in his surroundings, but still wasn’t trusting what he saw.

“You want to cook that up?”

Daryl frowns up at Maggie who is staring down at him with a soft smile.

“We can use the fireplace... or the stove.”  

  
Daryl’s mouth tightened. The idea of using a stove to cook something he’s killed is so foreign to him that it’s almost as unreal as the damn oranges. She’s not teasing him, not really. She holds out the plate for the meat and and what looks like a wastepaper basket, lined with a little pink garbage bag for the skin and viscera.

It’s just fuckin’ _weird._

Weirder than that is the fact that they brought him back some fried chicken and another bottle of fresh water. The night started to fall, and one-by one everyone took a shower, claiming a small spot of ground for themselves.  Glenn pulled Maggie to him by her hand and kissed the knuckles. Daryl saw Gabriel staring at them with a frown, and it made him bristle on their behalf.  It wasn’t the priest’s business if the two of them needed to be alone, and frankly it was a damn good thing to see that Maggie wasn’t that pale, wraith of a girl she’d been after her sister’s death. This Maggie was quieter, but still their own spitfire, and for that reason alone Daryl was glad that they’d all decided to stay together instead of scattering to the four winds once they’d gotten behind the gates.  

“Think it’s best if we all sleep down here,” Rick smiled a little at Glenn and Maggie who practically vibrated in place, anxious to try out one of the beds upstairs. Glenn turned about three shades of red, but Maggie just nodded, calm.

“I agree. Don’t know what’s gonna happen. Is Michonne out of the shower yet?”

“No,” answered a sulky Carl. He didn’t often sound like a snotty teenager, but Daryl figured that he’d about used his patience in waiting for the rest of his family to use the shower before he took his turn.  Not everyone had showered yet- Abraham, Daryl, and Sasha hadn’t taken a turn yet. Abraham and Sasha had cleaned up some, but Daryl didn’t feel much like conforming to their standards. He was fine just like this.

For a little while anyway.

“God, I could not stop brushing.” Michonne’s voice was rueful, and it took Daryl a second of rubbing his tongue around his fuzzy teeth to realize that maybe brushing his teeth wouldn’t be so bad. Carol was a whiz when it came to natural remedies, and one of her favorite things to use was baking soda and water to brush teeth. It tasted like the inside of a dead armadillo’s ass, but it worked.  Problem was, they’d gone without for so long that---

“Huh I've never-- I've never seen your face like that.”

Daryl shifted slightly, his thoughts flying away from dental hygiene to the teasing, almost stunned tone in Michonne’s voice. Daryl used the reflection in the window’s glass to watch the two of them, heart beating heavier than normal. It was as though with Michonne acknowledging Rick’s appearance, Daryl couldn’t make himself ignore it.

Rick’s response, “That's what I felt before _and_ after.” made Daryl hide a smile. Rick just sounded so disgusted that Daryl couldn’t help himself.

Judith babbled at him, pressing her face against the soft mesh of the playpen to blow drool bubbles, and Daryl smirked a little to himself. Rick’s daughter had clearly cottoned onto the fact that he was the Bringer of The Oranges, but they’d long since doled out all of the last of them, unable to face having any go to waste.

Daryl had commandeered a nest of towels to lean against, and tried to make himself comfortable. It helped that everyone was here, and was fairly content,  and sleepy. Nobody talked much, happy enough just to be here and be together.

The knock on the door startled them all; echoing through the eerily quiet house like a gunshot.

Daryl had a weapon in his hand before his adrenaline finished spiking, and knew that he wasn’t the only one.  Rick looked once over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Daryl’s in silent acknowledgement before he opened the door.

“Rick, I-- - _Wow_.”  Deanna’s voice was both teasing and admiring. It did a lot to diffuse the tension in the house, and Daryl wondered if it was on purpose.  Rick rolled his eyes and groaned, cheeks turning pink under the pale skin. “I didn't know what was under there. Listen, I don't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were all settling.” She peeked into the house, looking around at everyone. She must have been a damn good politician, because she hardly reacted.  “Oh my. Staying Together. Smart.”

“No one said we couldn’t.” Rick sounded strangely defensive. It didn’t sit right with Daryl, and he shifted on his bedroll of towels, not even bothering to hide the stare he was using on the community’s “leader.”

Deanna tilted her head. “You said that you were family. That’s what you said.”  Rick nodded, obviously seeing no problem with confirming Deanna’s strangely intense words. “Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think?”

Daryl felt like he’d been punched.

It was one thing for any of them to call each other family, or to count on one another, or take comfort in the closeness that they’d built.  The hug by the resort back in Georgia, full of desperation and the remnants of terror had been an example. The way they’d all worked together, giving the last dregs of their strength to keep the barn doors closed, at the very last tether of everything that kept them sane was another.  But having someone casually comment on it, someone on the outside notice and speak of their group’s connection as though it was just an everyday thing rocked Daryl down to the ground.

Rick tilted his head, frowning. “Everybody said you gave them jobs.”

Deanna’s smile broadened. “Mm hmm. Part of this place. Guess the communists won after all.”

There was a snort of laughter from Eugene’s area of the floor.  Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Well, you didn't give me one.” Rick sounded downright testy. It was the first clue that Daryl had that something wasn’t right- that maybe Rick wasn’t as comfortable here as he seemed. Rick didn’t do ‘testy’. He did ‘frustrated’, and ‘pissed’, and slightly teasing (although that had been quite awhile.) He did ‘now’ and ‘tender’ when it came to Carl or Judith, but not ‘testy.’

“I have. I just haven’t told you yet. Same with Michonne. I’m closing in on something for Sasha. And I'm just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out. But I will.”

Daryl doubted _that_ very much.

* * *

 

Daryl couldn’t sleep.  Everyone was quiet around him, and it was nice that they didn’t have to post a watch, but Daryl didn’t trust it. He sat up, wanting a cigarette so badly that he couldn’t stand the creepy, crawly feeling that kept him feeling twitchy and unsettled.

One thing about keeping watch was that he got to know what his people sounded like when they slept. There were murmurs, and snores, The occasional fart or rustle of fabric as someone rolled over, maybe a muttered curse when they rolled onto a weapon they kept besides them. Abraham snored like a  fuckin’ buzzsaw. Gabriel talked to himself in his sleep. Glenn and Maggie would sleep touching, always.  Habit had him checking on Judith.  She was starfished out on the little mattress of the playpen, her butt scooched up so that the diapered surface was higher than her head. Seeing her comfortable and safe was worth all of this, and Daryl thought that he best get the fuck over himself if he was going to stay here.

_If._

The feeling made him uncomfortable, and he sat up. Daryl knew better than to be quiet when he walked through the house. Not with everyone on edge. Not when a noise usually meant a rotting, stinking death only moments away. Any sound that _hinted_ at stealth would have him stabbed or shot or with a katana up his ass. His boots clomped quietly as he made his way to the door and it opened with a small squeak. As expected, he saw one of Carol’s silvery eyes glint at him in the moonlight, but he shook his head and she settled down to sleep. Or feign sleep. Never really knew with her.

Outside, Daryl drew in deep breaths of air, surprised at how claustrophobic the house had felt.  The night temperature had dropped slightly, leaving a light fog obscuring everything in the small community. It gave it all a surreal sort of appearance, like out of a dream. Daryl noticed that the blood stains from where he’d cleaned the possum had been cleaned away. He frowned down at the small spot, staring.

“Hey.”

Rick’s low voice made him jump, heart skittering in his chest. Only an iron control of his reflexes kept Daryl from whirling around with his blade. Instead he tightened his hands on the porch railing, trying not to tense up too much.

“Hey.”

“Here. Part of the welcome package. Had to hide it from Abraham, so you owe me.”

The longneck glistened in the ambient moonlight. Daryl’s mouth watered. He could see the beads of condensation around Rick’s hand and knew he was staring a little, dumfounded. Rick wiggled the beer a little, as if to say, ‘you gonna take it or what?’ and Daryl did on autopilot.  Like they’d had beers together a hundred times before, the two of them clinked the glass necks, then twisted off the caps in sync, before tilting their heads back and drinking.

“Think the last time we done this was---” Rick broke off mid-sentence.

“Jenner.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Daryl didn’t often think about Jacqui or the others of that small band of people that he and Merle had gotten out of Atlanta with. He still hadn't quite gotten over his guilt at being willing to take all that small ragtag group had. But being part of _this_ group, _this_ family had made him feel part of something. It had taken Daryl quite awhile to get there.

  


Daryl hadn’t ever gotten that fried chicken, so when the alcohol hit his system he felt a little light-headed.

It was definitely a sign of the apocalypse when one fuckin’ Bud _Light_ made Daryl Dixon feel a little woozy.  

The night was quiet. On the other side of the walls, the occasional walker could be heard. It blew Daryl’s mind that the Alexandrianites hardly had anyone on watch.  He didn’t know what their armory looked like- but he for damn sure would find out. It was stupid that the people here only taken the guns- like they honestly thought that it would make any of Daryl’s family less lethal.

“I’m not gonna ask you what you think of all this.” Rich gestured with the bottle out into the night. “Not yet. But you know that I can’t do this without you.”

Daryl was glad that he hadn’t taken a sip of the beer, or he probably would have spewed it all over himself like in some sitcom. Instead, he took the last drink and turned his head to stare at Rick.  Rick’s whole demeanor tried to convince Daryl of his sincerity. Still, Daryl scratched an eyebrow, feeling conflicted. There was a helluva lot of difference between conforming to your surroundings and rolling over and baring your belly to the beast.

“That ain’t true.”

Daryl didn’t imagine the quick flash of hurt on Rick’s face in the moonlight. Some small, mean part of him, the part he’d tried to train away when his family had needed him to be strong- instead of just some taker that took advantage of people- felt a fierce stab of pride.

"Rick, I'm pretty damn sure that you're gonna do whatever the hell is that you wanna do to make sure that your people can stay here.” He set the bottle on the porch railing. It made a tiny _click_ in the preternaturally quiet night. "And I ain't faulting you for that. You've done right by me. You’ve done right by all of us. But you for damn sure don't need _me_ to do it.”

Daryl couldn't have said why it was that he ended the nice moment so abruptly. Maybe some of it had to do with the pretty blonde visiting Rick. Maybe it was the way that Rick took to this place like a duck to water, like he was shaking off everything they went through to get here.  Daryl shrugged a little, and grabbed their empties. His first instinct was to just toss them somewhere where none of the kids would get to the glass, but he remembered the recently-scrubbed possum guts and frowned. Instead he left them in a little planter near the door to take care of later- it wasn’t like humanity needed to recycle anymore-  and made his careful way inside.

He took one glance back at Rick, who was still staring out into the quiet night, head bowed as though saying a prayer.  Daryl swallowed hard.

While in the camaro, he realized that he was gonna have to make some changes; that whatever shit he was feeling wasn’t reciprocated, and needed to just fucking _stop_ . Rick wanted something normal. Hell, Rick _deserved_ something normal and if cutting off some of the friendship he and Rick had going was what Daryl needed to do to make sure Rick got what he needed, then that was what was gonna happen.

He just.

He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

  


**END PART 1**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Illustration for chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He coughed. “Ain’t no big. Just pick up the pans ‘n’ shit.” He bent to pick up Judith, relaxing when she snuggled into his neck, sniffing a little pathetically from the loud, scary noise that had startled her. “And toss me an orange.”  
> Carl did, and Judith was interested enough in watching him peel it. It was a bit weird to hitch her on his hip so that he could wash his hands (Jesus Christ they had soap . And hot water. ) before feeding her the little pieces of orange.  
> "Judith was quite the fan, gumming them to death and making a mess of the orange juice as it trickled down her drooly chin. Carl cleaned up the kitchen while Daryl tried not to think about the shower, and the three of them spent a quiet moment, sharing orange pieces. He and Carl made an impromptu game of spitting the orange seeds into the sink for a few minutes before Daryl heard the water shut off."


	15. Into the Void- Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 (Part 2/3)

**Chapter 7 Into the Void- Part II**

 

 

_ A/N: Because I kind of feel like Chris Hardwick dared me to. Challenge Accepted. :D _

 

* * *

 

Daryl had already been out for a pre-perimeter check and cooked some oatmeal for sleepy fuckers (they had brown sugar!) who had seemingly forgotten about watches and rotations overnight. He didn’t know what time it was- not that any of them really knew anymore, but  it was early enough that the air outside was still cool. He sat on the porch where he and Rick had had their beers last night, balanced on the balcony, when the door opened.  It was an easy enough sound to dismiss; Daryl knew that whoever was coming out of that door wasn’t going to harm him. 

Daryl carefully pulled the main catch string back to restring the crossbow. He’d learned the hard lesson of letting himself become distracted- having the whole goddamn thing snap onto his finger didn’t exactly tickle. Since his conversation last night, Daryl had found that keeping himself focused was more difficult than it should have been. He kept going over how he’d left, and what he’d said, both thinking of what he’d said, and what he’d meant over and over. 

“Time to punch the clock and make the casseroles.” Carol’s cheerful voice rang out in the mockery of that old donut commercial. 

  
“What?” Daryl pulled again, not really listening to whatever Carol had said. He tightened the wire with his other hand, concentrating hard enough that his hands were a little sweaty.

“Make dinner for the older people-- moms who need a break, people who can't cook. Get to meet a lot of the neighbors that way.”

Once the crossbow was properly tightened, Daryl allowed himself to look up, mentally going back over the conversation in his head to see what he’d missed. So, when what he was seeing finally clicked, he had a quick second of trying not to let the utter  _ shock  _ on his face show.  Carol looked... lovely. She looked like she was ready to go to a PTA meeting and a women’s meeting at her local church while simultaneously teaching elementary school. He tried not to laugh outright at how different she looked, watching with amusement as she tugged uncomfortably on the light blue cardigan.  And what the fuck was Carol talking about- making casseroles? “All right,” he scoffed, raising an eyebrow mostly for the pure delight at watching her eyes narrow.  

Daryl didn’t have a big sister, but he kinda thought that if he did, she’d be looking at him in just this way- like he’d both disappointed and amused her at the same time, but she didn’t particularly want to call him on either. 

  
“Have you taken a shower yet?” Carol’s hands brushed against her hips once before she frowned briefly in Daryl’s direction. 

“Mm-hmm.” Daryl stared at her as she jogged down the steps and pulled down the cardigan once more. She didn’t often wear loose clothing, because that gave the dead ones something to grab onto.  The fact that she was now pissed him off in the same way that Rick’s shaved face and easy camaraderie with that Deana did. 

Carol snorted, rolling her eyes. “Take a shower. I'm gonna wash that vest. We need to keep up appearances, even you.” She started walking by him, steps clicking lightly on the sidewalk’s concrete. 

_  
_ _ Keep up  _ what  _ appearance, exactly? _ Daryl didn’t have to meet anyone’s expectations other than his own. “Hey, I ain't starting now.” He snorted, trusting that she’d understand the context.

Carol’s eyes narrowed. “I'm gonna hose you down in your sleep.”  Her words rang with enough finality that Daryl didn’t doubt that she’d do exactly that. 

  
“You look ridiculous,” he called after her rapidly retreating figure, not sure if he was pissed at her for threatening him, amused with the way she’d talked to him, or disappointed that she wanted him to change to fit in. 

Granted, taking a shower wasn’t exactly some huge concession. Shit. It had been so damn long since Daryl had really been clean that he’d forgotten what the hell it felt like. He bit his lip. Now that she’d mentioned it, Daryl felt his skin crawl with the need for a shower. He could use the grease in his hair to lube up a carburetor. And he smelled.... well. Better not go into that. Suffice it to say that Daryl was pretty sure that his stench could easily be confused with a walker’s. (Or, the possum he’d cleaned on the porch.) 

Still, there was the problem of a sprawl of humanity in the living room.  No one but Carol had left, so that left a lot of damn people in his business, assuming the lazy shits managed to get up before noon. Daryl frowned.  There  _ was  _ the house next door. He could use the facilities there, maybe find a pair of jeans to change into or something. If that house was as fully stocked as this one, there’d be all sort of shit for him to use. 

Daryl turned to look over his shoulder, making sure that Carol wasn’t in sight before he scrambled down off the balcony with a movement that was a lot less graceful than he intended. His ass was numb from sitting so long. 

Feeling a little like an intruder, Daryl walked to the other house, opening the door and walking inside. The place was a mirror of the one they currently stayed at. Some of the decorations were a little different, but this was obviously a home with decor worth several hundred dollars.  Daryl saw that the bathroom downstairs was just a commode and a sink- no shower, so he made his careful, quiet way upstairs. 

The master bedroom was way bigger than it needed to be. It was situated towards the back of the house, so Daryl could see that the large, bay windows would open out to the backyard. White, gauzy curtains hung, fluttering in the slight breeze, and for a second the sense of utter surreality made Daryl falter where he stood. He blinked a few times, zeroing in on the fancy candle and iron centerpiece thing on the center of the dresser. 

How could this even be real? 

The candles weren’t even used.  When they had candles, they used them down to the nub. Carl had expressed an interest in learning how to make candles, and Daryl knew that Maggie had planned on showing all of them how to make both candles and soap. 

(The fact that she had been a Girl Scout made all of them laugh. A little bit. Quietly, when Maggie wasn’t looking directly at them. The fact that Glenn had just about the worst poker face on the planet was unfortunate, but it made him a fairly easy scapegoat.)

Daryl shook his head, feeling again like a piebald mule in a thoroughbred stable. 

He rubbed his hands on his trousers before opening the teak drawers of the dresser, looking for clothes. There was a pair of cargo pants that looked like Deanna had ordered them for him out of some fancy catalogue. They’d work for now. It wouldn’t do to have his bare ass hanging out when he walked home, but he was going to wash his fucking clothes first chance he got. It had to rain... no.  _ washers. _ Somehow they even had the good Tide, the stuff his momma could never afford but would religiously clip coupons for anyway.

Daryl rolled his eyes at himself and stomped into the bathroom. He was actin’ like a damn baby with all the  _ emotions _ and  _ feelings _ he was bringing up today.  Next thing he knew- he’d be on the post-apocalyptic version of Dr. Phil or some shit.

The bathroom was bigger than his whole half of the trailer that he and Merle had shared before all this went down. The shower was separate from the bath, which seemed a little weird. The shower door was glass, and through it, Daryl could see that there on the shelf were four different kinds of shampoo, two different brands of conditioner. On the other side of the shelf was liquid soap, a package of razors, shaving cream, and a shower cap. White, fluffy towels were stacked in a small built-in shelf, located between the shower and the bathtub. 

Daryl shook his head. “ How the fuck is this my  _ life? _ ” 

He sighed and stripped, taking off his weapons first. He kept the nail file and his best dagger to take into the shower with him- wouldn’t do to be caught unawares with his dick hanging out- and lined the others and his gun up on the basin counter. His vest he flung over the sink, frowning at it. Maybe Carol could do some sort of magic with it. Daryl didn’t know how to get the evidence of months and months of hard living out of the leather. Even one of the angel wings was marred with blood or some other gore. He sighed, staring at himself in the large mirror as he slowly took off his clothes. The crossbow hit the bottom of the floor with a solid-sounding  _ thunk. _

He looked a lot goddamn different. 

The tattoos were the same. The star on his right hand had been there for forever. It had been a dare while he was in juvie the first time, and while it had hurt like a bitch and wasn’t exactly professional, it was a poignant reminder not to be stupid. The X above his collarbone he’d done with a needle and a broken bic one night in his room, in the dark, using his reflection in the window as a guide. The only light had been from the moon and a broken street lamp outside. His parents had been fighting over Merle, and Daryl had just started doodling, then continued doodling with the needle and ink. It hadn’t been hard. It hadn’t even gotten infected. He’d done the heart on his right wrist and the snake on his left leg the same night. The demon on his back was almost completely obscured by dirt, but that had been Daryl’s first professionally done tattoo, and it had hurt like a bitch. The demon on his right bicep had just appeared one night after Merle had gotten out of County, and they woke up in one of Merle’s girlfriend’s apartments. The other two, the names, those he’d never forget. Daryl slowly brushed the pad of one finger over the red ink on his forearm and sighed.

The scars weren’t so easily explained. The ones on his back never faded. They didn’t pull so much anymore, and Daryl didn’t think about them very often. The ones on his face had taken a long time to get over- mostly because he’d had a lot of surgery to make sure that his eye and parts of his face didn’t collapse in on itself. There were recent scars too. The one that Andrea had given him on his forehead. The scrapes of knives that had come too close, and once a piece of rusty fence that he’d fallen onto when attacked. (He’d been a fanatic about tetanus shots though, so he hadn’t really worried much.) 

There were bruises and smaller cuts and scratches that happened just by virtue of the fact they’d slept in the woods for at least fifty miles. His ribs stuck out more than they ever had, but his shoulders and back had bulked up from swinging his crossbow around. He had the same redneck tan that he’d sported since he was old enough to hang his arm out of a truck window, and the rest of his skin looked ghastly pale.  His teeth were gross. Daryl made a face at himself in the mirror, and reached for a toothbrush, finally understanding what Michonne had meant last night. He flossed, he gargled, he brushed, and then he did it all again, frowning a little bit when his gums bled.

Hell. Maybe Alexandria had a dentist. 

Daryl sighed again and rinsed out his mouth one last time with the mouthwash, before spitting and rinsing the detritus of his brush fest down the sink. 

He peed, flushed, then stepped into the shower. 

The water came on with a  _ hiss _ and Daryl groaned when it hit the back of his neck. He stood there with the water just a shade too hot, marinating in steam and the massaging beat of hot water before he grabbed the washcloth and started scrubbing his skin. He started with his face, then his chest and arms, his armpits, waist and the front of his legs. Daryl grabbed the little backscrub brush and did the same with his back, his butt, and the back of his legs then doing his toes, feet, hands and fingernails, grimacing at the gritty, filthy water that sloughed off his skin. He put down the brush and grabbed some shampoo, snorting a laugh at the fact that there was a kind of normal hair, for oily hair, and for dry hair. 

Unfucking beliveable.

The second time he washed, he turned the water down a lot, so that it was barely tepid. His skin pebbled with goosebumps and Daryl shivered in reaction. He just used soap and his hands this time, his skin tingly and sensitive with the way he’d ruthlessly scrubbed everything within an inch of its life. He washed his cock and his balls, looking down in shock when his body responded to the water and the touch by half-hardening. 

_ Shiii-iit. _

Without even thinking about it, Daryl started stroking himself, using some of the slippery suds from the soap. He grunted, low, his whole body switching from  _ good, clean _ to  _ god, good _ in a heartbeat. He pressed one hand against the wall to support himself, spreading his legs a little and pressing against his perineum hard enough that he gasped, cock jerking in his closed fist. 

He hadn’t-- Not since---

Daryl couldn’t actually remember.  He turned up the hot water, sucking in a heavy breath at the humid air in the small, enclosed space. His fist worked over his cock, tighter and faster with each desperate stroke. He could feel it. His balls tightened, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, his eyelids fluttered shut--

“Daryl?”

Daryl froze, his eyes flying open at the tentative sound of Rick’s voice. His cock, not realizing that Rick speaking to him at just that second was  _ a very bad thing _ throbbed, causing Daryl to bite his lip. 

“You don’t gotta say anything.” 

A tiny, panicked part of Daryl’s brain protested that he  _ couldn’t  _  say anything, that he was not physically able to speak without coming there, on the spot. 

“Sorry for intruding like this, but Carol wanted me to grab your clothes. And. Uh.I heard what you said yesterday. About not needing you.” 

Daryl’s fist started moving again, slowly, careful not to make any sound. He stared at the tiled wall, refusing to think about the implications of what he was doing. He shivered when his fingers twisted slightly over the sensitive, spongy head and his heartbeat started thudding again, almost loudly enough that Daryl wasn’t sure if Rick could hear it.

He heard Rick moving near the sink, and knew he was picking up his filthy clothes. The shower must be too steamed over for Rick to see exactly what he was doing in here, otherwise Daryl knew that the man would hightail it outta there like his ass was on fire. 

“Daryl-” 

Daryl’s eyes closed when Rick said his name again. 

“You gotta know that you’re wrong. You’re my br-- my best friend. You’re my family. I  _ do _ need you, man.”

Daryl couldn’t keep back the small sound in the back of his throat when he came, his cock spurting thick, ropey streams of come against the pristine tile of the shower. He couldn’t help the way he shivered, or the way he bit his lip, lost for a second in the sensation of his orgasm. Of Rick’s voice, telling Daryl that he needed him.

“I uh. I’ll give these to Carol.” 

“Just a sec.” Daryl didn’t even recognize his voice. It had lowered to a deep, growly decibel that Daryl hardly had a reason to use. He cleared his throat, rinsed everything off, and turned off the water.  He opened the shower door and reached out for one of the white fluffy towels, wrapping it around himself at the waist and opening the door the rest of the way.  Daryl continued to ignore what he’d just done so that he could respond to Rick, who had obviously been so worried about how Daryl had left things last night that he bullshitted some reason to ambush him. Carol didn’t even know that Daryl was taking a shower, so she couldn’t have possibly asked Rick to clean up Daryl’s messy clothes. 

He stepped out of the shower, shivering again as the air temperature hit his skin. Daryl caught Rick’s gaze in the mirror, and saw the blush that turned his pale cheeks a slight pink.  Inwardly, Daryl shook off the thought. It was probably just all the steam in the room. No reason that seein’  _ his _ scrawny ass half-clothed would make  _ Rick Grimes  _ of all people, blush.

Daryl stopped, turned to get his knives, and walked past Rick into the bedroom, where he’d left the cargo pants. He turned away and dropped the towel, pulling up the pants and buttoning them. They were just the slightest bit too big, and he kind of felt like one of them modeling assholes, but he wasn’t bare-ass naked, and that was a good thing. He turned back around, using the towel on his hair and ears. “Look. I get it.” He shrugged. “It’s important to be here. And you... and me...” He trailed off, trying not to make a face. Daryl was terrible at this emotional shit. 

Rick swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, clutching the putrid pile of clothes with the other. 

Daryl stuck the nail file into one of the pockets, avoiding eye-contact.  Finally, when the silence had stretched into something that had gotten almost awkward, Daryl shrugged, mouth twisting into a tiny hint of a smirk.  “We’re good.” 

Rick’s answering grin was as bright as the sunlight in the room. 

*******

Several hours later found Daryl in his own clothes again. Carol had made him scrub them, which they’d both found hilarious, and Daryl knew better than to say anything about it being women's work, even though to this point, Carol had always just kind of done all their laundry without being asked. 

He’d tolerated her strange Suzy Homemaker act, and flatly ignored the way his ears turned bright red when she commented on how his shower ‘looked to be really...  _ relaxing _ , Daryl’, instead making a quick plan to meet up later outside the walls. They both remembered Deanna’s camera, and neither of them felt too comfortable talking about their plans in front of a potential audience. Carol had just leaned towards him to say something in his ear when a familiar shout caught their attention. 

Instinct had them both running without even needing to discuss it. 

Daryl ran up on what was obviously a pretty hot fight, walking the last few steps as he saw some dumbass punk get into Glenn’s face.  It shocked him enough that he let it play out a little. Glenn was often protective when something threatened any one of them, but he was never in Daryl’s experience outwardly aggressive. 

“No one’s impressed, man.” 

Glenn’s whole demeanor had changed. Instead of the shy kid that Glenn had been, Daryl saw someone who was sick to shit of stupidity, ready to defend himself.  Daryl was  _ impressed _ . If some dipshit had come up to him and pushed  _ him _ around like that, Daryl would make sure the stupid fuck was on the ground spitting teeth. 

Daryl’s gaze darted to the sidekick, watching the way that he didn’t initiate anything, but stood there ready to finish it. It occurred to him that whatever had pissed Glenn off had probably been the first sign that all of them might not be getting an invite for an extended visit.  

“Walk away.” Glenn tried again to get the punk to back off. 

“Aiden! What is going on?”  Deanna’s voice cracked like a whip. Daryl’s eyebrow rose, impressed. For such a tiny thing, she sounded like she had no problem keeping people in line. Daryl had been in enough fights to know how this was gonna play out. The dumbass looked like the same entitled pricks that had too much time and too much of their parents’ money to blow. 

“This guy's got a problem with the way we do things. Why did you let these people in?” He spoke to his mother like he expected to be heard; as though he was in the habit of throwing a loud enough tantrum that mama would eventually cave. 

Glenn scoffed. “Because  _ we  _ actually know what we're doing out there.” 

Daryl saw the swing, saw Glenn duck, but before he could move to help shut the little twerp down, the squirrely lackey ran towards him, head down, bellowing with rage.  And like  _ that _ Daryl had an outlet for the confusion and frustration that never really left him anymore. He had the younger man on the ground, straddling him with a punch to the kidneys, then holding him down to the pavement by tightening his hand around the kid’s throat almost before he knew what he was doing. 

_ With one blink, the kid was gone and he was being kicked in the head and the gut by two of Joe’s Claimers. The gunshot cracked through the night with enough force that everything stopped for just a second. Daryl spared a half second to realize that it wasn’t him that was shot, that Rick or Michonne had taken the advantage and one of his attackers cried out in pain. He turned, catching a glimpse of Carl’s terrified face as he struggled, and didn’t know what was happening with the guys on Rick and ‘Chonne, but he had just a second to grab the advantage with all ten finger and toenails and he was gonna take it because how fuckin’  _ **dare** _ they come after his family he would hurt them for this, kill them with punches and kicks and the strength of his hands around the fragile neck squeezing and squeezing tightertighertigher-- _

“Whoa, whoa! Hey, hey,  _ hey _ !” 

Daryl only realized that Rick was pulling him away from the sidekick when Rick tightened the hold taught to thousands of repeat offenders by the cops time and time again. Instinct had Daryl not fighting back, even with his confusion. Daryl blinked, coming out of the memory with a shocked spurt of pure shame. Rick’s low voice rumbled against Daryl’s back and his whole world was Rick’s  low, almost whispered, “Let's not do this now.” Vaguely, Daryl could hear people talking, but their voices sounded like the adults in the old Peanuts cartoons, indistinct and as though he was listening through a tunnel. 

“Daryl.” 

Just one word, but enough force behind it to remind Daryl of where and when he was. He let go of the younger man’s throat with fingers that trembled, still remembering the bloodrage from only seconds ago. No. That was weeks ago now. Months. Before Terminus. Daryl gave his head a shake, trying to focus.

The asshole coughed and staggered away. Rick let go of Daryl immediately and moved so that he was between Daryl and the other members of the community. Daryl couldn’t seem to stop pacing back and forth. His blood was up, and while he knew that he wasn’t that for removed from attacking again, an unleashed dog ready to protect what was his. 

Deanna spoke, looking at the assembled crowd. “I want everyone to hear me, okay? Rick and his people are part of this community now in all ways as equals. Understood?” 

_ Yeah, right we are. We’re not  _ part  _ of the little setup here. _ Only the fact that Rick was watching the squirrely kid with the same eagle eye that Daryl was kept him from speaking out loud.  Deanna got shit under control, and managed to show her support for Rick by informing the kid that had thrown the punch at Glenn and the man that Daryl had strangled that they needed to stay after, like two kids called in front of a principal. 

“All of you, turn in your weapons. Then you two come talk to me.” Deanna, having given them their marching orders, ignored them with the arrogance of someone sure they’d be obeyed. “I told you I had a job for you,” she said to Rick. “I'd like you to be our constable. That's what you were. That's what you  _ are _ .” 

Alarm bells started to ring in Daryl’s head. It was that more than the fight apparently being over that snapped him back into himself. He blinked, narrowing his eyes. 

“And you, too.” Deanna included Michonne in her little job plan.  Michonne was obviously flattered. “Will you accept?”Deanna turned towards  Rick.

Daryl didn’t miss the way that Rick caught Michonne’s gaze with his own, a whole wealth of conversation going on without using any words. When Rick spoke, it was with certainty. “Okay. Yeah, I'm in.”

Daryl scoffed and stormed off, afraid that his next punch might be to Rick’s chiseled jaw. He wasn’t mad  _ at _ Rick. Not really. The fact that Rick, and Daryl, and obviously Carol and Glenn and Maggie... hell. Even  _ Tara  _ had conformed to all of this made him furious. He knew why they needed to do it. And in Carol’s case, it was obviously an act. But in Rick’s? In Michonne’s? 

Daryl didn’t think the two of them had it in them to be so deceptive, not when there was a community that was counting on them.

*******

It took a  _ lot  _ before Daryl could calm down. He walked for awhile, leaving the walls and storming outside to look for some kind of meat or something, kill some walkers to feel like he had some fucking  _ purpose.  _ That he wasn’t just some kind of background wallpaper to his family’s opinions. Why did everything have to  _ change _ ? Why was it that Rick and all of them felt like they had to conform- not to something that they weren’t, but to something that they were so long ago it didn’t even matter?  

With the amount of noise he was making, it was a damn shock that he didn’t have a trail of the damn dead following him like some sort of mother duck.  Daryl frowned. It was weird that there weren’t  _ more _ of them around. Not just with the noise that he was making, but the noise of Alexandria itself. They should be three deep and pounding on the walls. 

Daryl came back at dusk, feeling exhausted and filthy, and mostly over himself. The long and short of it was that he didn’t get to act like some fuckin’ prima donna. They weren’t here to make Daryl Dixon feel better, or feel worse. They were here, behind these walls, because it gave them a fucking  _ chance. _

Feeling a lot like he was gonna have to justify both his actions during the fight, and his little bit of alone time like a kid called on the carpet, Daryl walked back through the gates (the dumb fucks didn’t even have a sniper posted) and on up to the house given to them.  To his surprise, Maggie was sitting on the steps, her back resting against the balcony. She smiled at him, and the sight was so beautiful that it stopped Daryl in his tracks.  

It was such a simple thing. Maggie had a way of smiling that reminded him sharply of Bethie part smirk,  part unexpected surprise on Christmas morning, but he hadn’t seen her smile in longer’n he could remember.  She didn’t say anything, but was clearly glad to see him. Daryl’s heart gave a funny sort of twist, and the thought that he had earlier- that it wasn’t just Rick’s kids that needed this place- came back full circle. She held out a pack of Morelys and a lighter, wiggling it a little when Daryl didn’t immediately take it. When he did, she purposefully let their fingers brush with a simple, sweet gesture of wordless support. 

Maggie didn’t lean forward and kiss him, like Carol would have done, or fist bump him, like Tara would have done. She was just there- taking care of him when he least expected it, and all at once Daryl’s throat was tight with all the things he couldn’t say, about her, and them, and how he’d failed to keep her sister safe. 

Daryl ducked his head and took the smokes. Maggie squeezed his fingers and stood up, walking back inside without a word. The door shut behind her, and Daryl lit the cigarette on auto-pilot, inhaling the sharp, acrid smoke with a quick, practiced breath. 

It was some time later when the door opened.

Daryl’s eyebrows jumped to the top of his forehead when he saw Rick stroll out in the constable uniform. Rick didn’t fuck around, meeting Daryl’s gaze with his own. In his own way, he was checking up on Daryl just like Maggie had done.

“We good?” 

“Yeah. You a cop again?” Daryl found that the words were surprisingly not bitter. 

Rick sighed. “I'm trying it on for size.”

“So we're staying?” Carol shut the door behind her with a small click. Daryl inhaled his cigarette again, the bluish smoke circling around his head in little tendrils, watching as Rick cocked his head, looking at her.

“I think we can start sleeping in our own homes. Settle in.” 

Daryl looked from one to the other, inhaling again. 

Carol sounded almost frustrated with Rick. “If we get comfortable here, we let our guard down-- this place is gonna make us weak.”

Daryl watched Rick nod.  

Rick made the little sound he did when he was agreeing with something one of them said. “Carl said that.” He took a few steps out onto the balcony, looking out into the almost silent night.   “But it's not gonna happen. We won't get weak. That's not in us anymore.”

Daryl squeezed the end of the cig so that the cherry fell out onto the wood of the porch. He flicked the butt at the planter he’d used as a recycling bin. He had to suppress a shiver at the way Rick’s voice changed just slightly, darkening with the experiences of keeping all of them alive while on the road. 

“We'll make it work. And if they can't make it... then we'll just take this place.”

  
  
  
  


**END OF PART II.**

(part three coming soon!)

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **FoxyK** for the beta, and to **jlm121** and **marooncamaro** for their help!  <3.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I wanted Daryl to begin working through some things, and introducing some later plotty things. Hope it was worth the wait.


	16. Chapter 7- Into the Void part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 (Part 3/3)

**Chapter 7- Into the Void part III**

 

(A/N: Ahhhhh hello. It’s me. *waves* If you’re still here, thank you so much. I can’t apologize enough for the unexpected delay.  Here is _FINALLY_ the end of Chapter 7.

 

Quick note on chapters- and attempt to alleviate confusion. What the Archives terms a chapter number is not always what the actual chapter is. I know, I know, how unhelpful. With both Lucie and I adding chapters, and me breaking this chapter into three parts, it reads everything separately.  So right now, it reads as having 15 chapters but that is not entirely accurate. : / Once we’re done with the fic we’ll go in and fix the chapter numbers. I know it’s a hot mess right now. Sorry about that!)

* * *

  


The predawn air was so crisp that it hurt a little to breathe in too deeply. By six or so the bite of the air had burned off, and the silence of the morning gave Daryl the most peace he’d had in awhile. The only sounds were the wind in the leaves and the sound of his faint breaths in the still morning air.

 

Aaron’s “stealth” walking shattered the peacefulness, and Daryl reacted with probably more aggression than was necessary. It got his point well enough though, and while Daryl didn’t totally trust the man, what he’d said resonated.  Daryl didn’t think he was some entitled asshole, and his natural tendencies to despise most of the human race had only become more and more refined. But the idea that the people in Alexandria treated Aaron and Eric as somehow _less_ really pissed him off.  

 

While all them dicks just sat on their ass, Aaron went out into all this crazy shit to find people. To hunt (although not very well) and risk his life to help the community.  In a weird way, Aaron reminded Daryl of himself.  Before Hershel’s farm, Daryl hadn’t really known the people who would become his family. He hadn’t been quite able to leave them though. He was part of the group, but always on the fringes. It hadn’t been until after Sophia was killed that Daryl had really started to chisel out a place for himself. It wasn’t until the prison that Daryl really felt like he’d done right by all of them, and it became less about points tallied up in a column and more about erasing the column all together.

 

It didn’t seem like Aaron and Eric had managed to erase that column yet, not if Aaron was still so determined to make   _Daryl_ of all people a part of the team.

 

The invitation for spaghetti had surprised him, and Daryl found himself shoveling pasta and sauce into his mouth faster than he could chew, with a wide-eyed Eric looking at him and quite obviously biting his cheek so he wouldn’t laugh.

 

He slurped it, knew he was slurping it, knew the fussy Eric was probably horrified (and honestly that was half of the fun), but managed to grunt his thanks.

 

Eric continued to watch Daryl eat with a partially horrified, partially sick look on his face, and Daryl had a weird second of what-the- _fuck_ was this dude’s life like before and after everything went to shit, if _Daryl’s manners were_ what grossed him out.  Daryl burped, then wiped the slightly greasy sauce off of his lips with his forearm, ignoring the slight cringe Eric gave his boyfriend. Or husband.

 

Whatever they were.

 

Daryl didn’t know if there was some sort of gay primer he was supposed to be reading, now that he was having these.... Thoughts. What the hell did he know about sex with a guy? Daryl had _had_ sex before, once inside of a woman and once rubbing off against a man, but there’d never been all this... emotion to go with it. _That_ was the shit that terrified him, made him unwilling to change the status quo between him and. Well. No point. Like Daryl had said in the camaro, there was no point in thinking about any of that shit. Not when what they had was workin’ just fine. Daryl finished another forkful of noodles and sauce thoughtfully, only realizing that Eric was talking after he’d swallowed.

 

“--Mmm, when you're out there, if you happen to be in a store or something, Mrs. Neudermyer is really looking for a pasta maker. And we're all really trying to get her to shut up about it. I mean, we have crates of dried pasta in here, but she wants to make her own or something. I really think she just wants something to talk about, so... if you see one out on your travels, it would go a long way to...” Eric trailed off, staring at Daryl’s blank face, then darted a nervous gaze over to Aaron.  “I thought it was done. You didn't ask him already?” Eric sounded both slightly pissed and entirely embarrassed for some reason, and Daryl couldn’t help the deeply suspicious feeling in his gut.

 

Of _course_ there was a reason that he’d been invited to dinner. The disappointment shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was anyway.  Still. Best to get it over with. Then he could say no, and just fuck off back to the house, waiting for everyone to get done with the party. “Ask me what?”

 

When no answer was forthcoming from either of the two men, Daryl felt his lips tighten. He pushed away from the table and turned blindly away, still absurdly hurt. Which was stupid. Neither Eric nor Aaron owed him anything. Before he could get very far, Aaron stood just as quickly, moving to block Daryl’s path to the front door. He opened the garage door and gestured, not meeting Daryl’s gaze.  Daryl saw the ‘ _oh shit, I’m sorry_ ’ look Eric gave him before he turned to walk inside the garage, but didn’t acknowledge it.

 

Aaron hit the lights, and Daryl blinked a little stupidly at the florescent lighting. It had been awhile since he’d seen it and his eyes weren’t ready.

 

Aaron's voice, when he spoke was low. “ When I got the place, there was that frame and some parts and equipment.” Daryl couldn’t help the shiver that he got when he saw the skeleton of the bike under the sheet. He turned towards it as though hypnotized. “Whoever lived here built them.”

 

“It's a lot of parts for one bike,” Daryl said, pulling off the sheet.

 

Aaron nodded. “Whenever I came across any parts out there, I brought them back. I didn't know what I'd need. I always thought I'd learn how to do it, but I get the feeling you already know what to do with it. And the thing is, you're going to need a bike.”

 

The dark feeling he’d had at the dinner table dissipated like the clouds after a summer storm. Daryl did not want to name the emotion that rocked through him when what Aaron said clicked, too afraid that it was much too much like hope.

 

“Why? “

 

Aaron finally looked him in the eyes. “I uh. I told Deanna not to give you a job because I think I have one for you. I'd like you to be Alexandria's other recruiter. I don't want Eric risking his life anymore.” Aaron’s gaze hardened at the thought of how his boyfriend’s injury could have gone wrong out there if Maggie and Daryl and the rest of Daryl’s family hadn’t been there to help him.

 

“You want me risking mine, right?” Daryl already knew that he was going to say yes. ( _Hell yes,_ Shit _yes, get me the_ fuck _outta these walls_ ) but he figured he best say what he was thinking so both he and Aaron would know what was what.

 

“Yeah, because you know what you're doing. You're good out there.”

 

Daryl felt himself blushing a little bit. It was one thing for Carol or Rick to tell him that he’d done good, but quite another for a stranger to acknowledge the stuff he’d taught himself in desperation; so he’d could eat while Merle was doin’ stints in juvie.  

 

Aaron moved a little closer, cocking his head so that he looked terribly earnest. “But you don't belong _only_ out there. I know it's hard getting used to people getting used to you. And I understand right now you need to be out there sometimes. So do I. But the main reason why I want you to help me recruit is because you do know the difference between a good person and a bad person.”

 

Daryl allowed the pleased feeling to sink into his bones. It was probably stupid as fuck that he was getting so jived from a simple stating of facts, but regardless, Daryl was. The thing was- he _did_ have good instincts. And while Aaron didn’t really know him, he knew enough to trust him with this. He’d been given a job that let him fit into the little Stepford community without having to change who he was. It was... it was a very kind thing to do.

 

“I got nothing else to do.”

 

Aaron’s grin was like the sun.

 

****

“Hey! Daryl, man. Wait up.”

 

Daryl bit his lip for a second at Carl’s voice, then let the engine idle. The grumbling roar of the rebuilt Harley was satisfying. The truth was, he _loved_ this fuckin’ bike.  Aaron hit the brakes with a grinding squeal on the ancient Olds they’d decided was shitty enough to take out into the unknown, but worked well enough to get them out of a jam if they needed it. Still, it was missing a timing belt and the brake pads needed replacing- but the car parts weren’t exactly on anyone’s priority list. Daryl made a mental note to look for shitty car parts too, if the opportunity presented itself.  He felt like a fuckin’ kid at Christmas.

 

“Are you going out?”

 

Daryl felt that was a pretty obvious fucking answer, but didn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings, so he held his tongue.  

 

Carl pushed back his dad’s hat so he could meet Daryl’s eyes square on. “Can I... Can I go? I mean, I’m better with a gun than he is. I can watch your back.” Carl smirked at Aaron’s mock-offended huff, but Daryl knew from the kid’s gaze that he was dead serious.  The fact that he was probably telling the truth was not lost on Daryl, Carl, _or_ Aaron, but none of them mentioned it.

 

“Naw. Best if you stay here, this time.”

 

“But I don’t _want_ to stay here. I want to go out with you. Come on, please? That Jessie chick is always at the house minding Judith, or Carol has her, or Michonne, and they don’t really need me. And at _school_ they have me learning friggin’ _Geometry_ for Christ’s sake. I mean- what’s the point of that? So I can mentally figure out a trajectory of blowing out some walker’s brains? I’ve got that down.”

 

“You got stuff to do other than minding Judith. And they might watch her for a bit while you’re at school, but it’s your job to make sure she’s okay.”

 

Carl so rarely pulled the teenager angsty bullshit that it was a shock when he did. Normally he was quiet, and kind of a smartass, which Daryl appreciated.  So, when he sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, Daryl found both his eyebrows raising under his sunglasses.

 

“I don’t _need_ to do any of that. Someone is always around to watch her.”

 

“Yeah? Tell that to Tyreese.” Daryl expected that to shut the kid up, but Carl fired back.

 

“Yeah? How about you tell that to Beth? You guys kept her as babysitter and look what--”

 

Daryl’s hands tightened on the handles of his bike just as Carl bit off what he was saying in mid stream, like his mind had caught up with what his foolish mouth was actually saying. Daryl knew that people said stupid things, teenagers especially, but _that_ was like a punch to the dick.

 

Carl rubbed  the back of his neck with one hand looking sheepish in a way that was all his dad, and Daryl made himself take three deep breaths before he spoke. He didn't want to cause drama, and he didn't want to bite Carl’s damnfool head off.

 

“You c’n take that up with your dad. We gotta go.” Daryl revved the engine. He considered driving off, but could see the remorse on Carl’s earnest face. Instead, he tried to soften it with a muttered, “Bye, kid.”

 

It wasn't until they were through the gates that Daryl was able to breathe  a sigh of relief.  Fuck, the relief of being _out_  was like releasing a chain that had kept him underwater.

 

“That sounded rough.”

 

Aaron’s voice was tinny through the walkie  talkies.They had agreed to use them for emergencies only, and Daryl rolled his eyes at Aaron’s loose definition of the term ‘emergency.’

 

“Ain’t no big thing. He's a good kid- just bored.”

 

“Right. Well, at the bend up here, why don't you follow me and I can show you the territory we want to cover. Saw this man with a red poncho- through the we could try tracking him down... see what's up.”

 

“A’ight.”

 

They drove for a few miles, calmly taking in their surroundings. The few walkers that shambled to investigate the noise of their passing weren't a problem- he and Aaron were long gone before they managed to get to the road.

 

Like the morning a few days ago, driving on the road with just having to worry about Aaron’s brakelights, and the occasional walker staring after him like kids who used to run pell-mell out of the house, only to miss the icecream truck,  was strangely calming. Daryl enjoyed the sense of accomplishment from ridiing a bike that he’d made- not that it was perfect and he couldn’t _wait_ to get his hands dirty again on her- but it was street legal, and allowed the wind to rush through his hair.

 

Daryl tried to ignore Carl’s words, but they kept circling around in his head like dirty water down a drain.

 

Judith used to be his responsibility too. Well, sometimes. But with the blonde- _Jessie-_ sniffing around.... No, that wasn’t fair. He’d made his decision already- that Rick deserved what he wanted. And what Rick wanted- was normal. The house, the kids, the.... Well, the blonde chick was married, but Daryl didn’t blame Rick for wanting her, or someone like her. The picket fence, with a ready-made little family all good to go.

 

_Normal._

 

The bitch of it all was that Daryl wasn’t even mad. Their signals had gotten a bit crossed, but Daryl was pretty sure that he had it all straight now.  Er. So to speak.

 

Daryl snorted, the sound covered up by the roar of the motor.

 

It helped to realize that Daryl wasn’t _losing_ Rick. Hell, no. Their friendship was just as solid as those walls around Alexandria. Daryl couldn’t ever imagine something that would bring them down. He couldn’t mourn the loss of something he’d never had. And, there was comfort in knowing that he was making sure that Rick was getting what he wanted. No. What he needed. And to be honest, Daryl didn’t really have to do all that much. He just had to stay out of the damn way.

 

That was easy enough.

 

“You okay?”

 

The crackle of Aaron’s voice through the tiny speaker jarred Daryl out of his thoughts.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, if you can use a stop, there’s an old farm not too far from here. We can check for signs of Poncho Guy.  It’s a bit more defensible than sleeping out in the open.”  

 

“‘Kay.”

 

Aaron didn’t mention the weird thing they’d seen- the woman with the W in her forehead tied to the tree- but he didn’t have to. Whoever was carving up walkers and doodling on their heads was _not_ someone that Daryl wanted particularly to meet. Daryl hung back a little and let Aaron take point. Aaron turned left at an old country road and drove for about a mile.  The farm reminded Daryl viscerally of Hershel’s farm- both because of the setup and the fact that it had been torched. There was part of an outbuilding still standing, and Aaron drove right up to it, bumping slowly over what looked to be the concrete foundation.  Daryl pulled the bike next to him and cut the motor.

 

“So I’m sure you’ve done something like this before, but very few people tend to look that carefully once they see what they expect to see.” Aaron popped the trunk, got out of the Olds and walked around to the back.

 

“Awww, _man_.”  Daryl bent so his face was further away from the trunk as the smell wafted out. It took him a second to fight with his stomach to make sure the granola they’d had for a late lunch wouldn’t make a sudden reappearance.

 

“I know.” Aaron looked faintly amused at Daryl’s reaction. He bent into the trunk and pulled out a wooden crate that looked to be full of tarps. The tarps were covered with old blood, and twigs, and old leaves- even some stuff that _could_ have once been human, but Daryl wasn’t gonna examine it too carefully. It fucking reeked.

 

Aaron shook out the tarp- _was that shit_ glued _on?-_ and arranged it around the bike and part of the car so it looked like part of the scenery.  Hell. Daryl knew it was there and he was practically fooled.

 

“Come on. There’s a basement that should be good.”

 

They swung their backpacks and weapons onto shoulders and Daryl followed Aaron to what looked like a set of cellar doors.  Aaron thumped a few times on the door, then swung them open, both of them hiding behind the door as cover in case what was inside wasn’t human.  

There wasn’t anything that jumped out at them, so the two men walked inside and down the steps.  

 

The cellar had long since been stripped of anything useful, aside from a large mattress in the corner.  Anything that could be taken outside and used or burned had done so, and the floor was pretty clean aside from a large, old bloodstain in the corner.

 

It was pretty clear that Aaron’s ‘we can check for signs of Poncho Guy’ was code for ‘I’m sick of driving- let’s rest’, because he didn’t do much of anything to look for him.  

 

They quickly relaxed into a routine- cleaning weapons, eating something cold for dinner (it was a rookie mistake to use a fire pit or fireplace in a burned out building- the smoke would attract all _sorts_ of nasty things to the door) and making themselves comfortable for the night. As camp-outs went, it was a helluva lot better than Daryl had had before.

 

He was almost... content.

 

Daryl stretched out on the bed, leaving his shoes on and his weapons and bag close  in case they had to make a quick getaway, staring up at the dark ceiling.  He felt Aaron stretch out beside him.

 

“You gonna have a problem sharing the mattress?”  Aaron’s voice was both mild and cautious, in the way that told Daryl loud and clear that somewhere down the line _someone_ had most definitely had a problem.

 

Daryl scoffed.  “I don’t know.” He waited a beat.  “Do ya snore?”

 

Aaron laughed, and there was some movement as he settled in.  “No, I don’t snore.”

 

They were quiet for several minutes, as they both settled in for sleep.

 

“Hey, you know Carl didn’t mean anything by---”

 

Daryl huffed, and rolled to his side, putting his back to Aaron.  “It’s nothin’. Just a kid. Go the fuck to sleep, man. We can find Pancho Guy in the mornin’.”

 

Aaron did, but it was several hours before Daryl could swim up out of his own mind to actually sleep.

 

Two days later, they still hadn’t found the man in the poncho. It didn’t sit right with Daryl, like he’d failed some kind of test.  Aaron had stumbled on the sign for Del Arno Foods Distribution Center and it seemed like he had given up on Poncho Guy.  Daryl wasn’t too sure, but his skin was tingling a little at the possibility of a good score. There were a few walkers, but this area had been evacuated, like back in Georgia. Or something; something was keeping most of the walkers away. It was possible that the human scavengers hadn’t found this yet.

 

The little distribution center warehouse was set fairly far back off the road. Daryl was cautious- looking through his field glasses before making his decision. He’d learned the hard way that being impulsive got you in trouble.

 

“We checked the forest, and the roads. We can’t find him. Sometimes they slip away. It happens. But... you don’t come across something like this every day.”

 

Daryl found himself automatically checking exits, and signs of occupancy. There was a shitty dodge that had rusted out in the parking lot, and what looked like a minivan a little closer to the fences. “We do this now- it’s like we're’ giving up.”  He was gonna do what Aaron wanted- it was his call, but he for damn sure was going to air his grievances while he could.”

 

Aaron nodded. “Home is fifty miles back. It’s time to go.” He frowned. “You saw how it was last night.”

 

Daryl had. It was bad, what they’d seen. Been unable to help, outnumbered and outgunned by some local group. Aaron had picked up the name ‘Negan’ on his microphone, and neither of them had known what it meant- whether that was a town or a person. Everything else had been obscured with the sounds of the firefight.

 

“Yeah. That’s why we ought to keep looking for the good ones.”

 

Aaron nodded earnestly. “And we will! We will find them, Daryl. But when we do... we need to feed them.”

 

The flash of the resort, the dead woman’s ‘i’m sorry’ scratched in blood on the floor popped into Daryl’s head with all the subtly of a brick to the face.” He swallowed. And that... that was just about as much truth as Daryl needed.  No way--- no _fucking_  way would he ever allow  his family to go so hungry that something like _that_ would ever happen to them. It was unthinkable.

 

“Allright.” Daryl took his knife and clinked it against the fence a few times, drawing the attention of the walkers inside. There were only about twelve of them or so, and Daryl admitted to a tiny feeling of hope that blossomed in his chest at how well things were going as he and Aaron quickly killed them off.  Oh he knew better than to get his hopes up- shit never went his way when that happened- but... there was a possibility of bringing home a good score and that was... good.

 

They walked inside, Daryl noticing the signs that someone had been here before, but it looked to have been awhile.  They checked the loading docks, unsure whether to try for the trailers or the warehouse first.  They had a 50/50 chance of being right.

 

“Whoooa!”

 

Daryl turned, only to roll his eyes at Aaron’s grin. He watched as the man knelt down and got out his screwdriver from his bag.  

 

“Hey, listen, I don't like giving up either, but the guy is in a red poncho. You can see him from a mile away. We've gone a lot of miles here. No sign of him. But... if we come away with a trailer full of cans, I'd say that's a good trip.”  Aaron checked out his new license plate, showing it to Daryl with raised eyebrows and a bigger smile, then  walked up by Daryl. “What do you think?  Warehouse or try out here first?”

 

Daryl shrugged. There were already out here.  It would be best just to go with what’s closer.  He knelt down, and flipped the latch on the back of the trailer. “Here we go.”

 

Daryl had one quick sense of ‘aw shit’ before the line snapped.  He barely had time to process that the trailer doors were opening one after another, as the trap was sprung, or hell. That there was even a trap at all.  

 

He caught one quick glance of all the walkers crammed into the back of the trailer, ‘W’s carved into their foreheads.  They snarled and turned, and Daryl pushed Aaron to the little spot between the two loading areas, and jumped down after him.  Daryl darted forward to knife at a few of them- god there were so many!- and heard Aaron behind him, the blur of the yellow license plate showing how useful it was as in impromptu weapon.

 

There were too many of them. The snarling and growling was almost deafening. Daryl darted to the left, then saw an opening under one of the trucks. Maybe.... “Over here!  Come on!”

 

It didn’t take the walkers long to figure out that they were trapped. Daryl had barely enough time to snatch up the chair, before he heard Aaron’s panicked, “ No!” and saw the man kick at the walker who had grabbed him. Daryl was able to kill it, but knew in a second that this wasn’t going to work. There were just too many of the fuckin’ things.

 

He spied that the blue mini van was close, and it was a chance. “Come on,” Daryl shouted, although Aaron was right behind him.  He shoved open the door and scrambled inside.

 

Aaron pushed him, hurrying seconds behind. “Come on! Go!”

 

They managed to get inside, and Aaron shut one of the walker’s heads in the door in his haste to close it. It took him a few tries but eventually it shut, and they were able to sit to catch their breath, watching in terrified dismay as what looked like hundreds of them started moving towards the vehicle that held the fresh meat inside of it.

  
Daryl felt like two pigs in a blanket. His heart thundered with what felt like a million beats per minute as he and Aaron gasped for breath. Weirdly, the thought that popped into his head was that after all that trouble of washing his fucking vest, he’d managed to get it all bloody again.

 

Carol was gonna kill him.

 

“Glass will hold for a while, right?”  Aaron sounded terribly hopeful, and Daryl didn’t much like lying to him.

 

“Maybe. Maybe we can make it so they can't see us. In a couple hours, something will come by, they'll follow it out. There's gotta be something. We can cut up these seats...”

 

Daryl trailed off as he noticed Aaron’s sudden stillness besides him. He knew that it felt wrong, and knew that whatever made Aaron react like that was not going to be good.  

 

He glanced at the little yellow piece of paper in Aaron’s hands,  They had started with a pen, and finished in what was probably their own blood.

 

**TRAP BAD PEOPLE COMING. DON’T STAY**

  


The look on Aaron’s face made Daryl feel like he’d just murdered someone. It was the look of someone who was so far into deep shit that the knew that there was no way out.  Daryl looked around for a few more fruitless seconds, like there was gonna be a way out handed to him on a silver plate.

 

Daryl had to scoff at the fucked-up irony.

 

“What?”

 

“I came out here to... not feel all closed up back there. To get away from some shit that went down.” To put some distance between him and Rick, to try to figure some shit out. Daryl didn’t think that he’d done too bad of a job, all things considered. “Even now, this still feels more like me... than back in them houses. That's pretty messed up, huh?”

 

“You were trying.”

 

“I had to.”

 

Aaron shook his head once, in denial. “No, you didn't. Listen, I saw you with your group out there on the road. Then you went off on your own by the barn. I saw... I saw what you did.”

 

Shame crawled up Daryl’s spine. He’d gone off by himself, to try to ... to try to feel _something_ other than misery and the idea that he hadn’t been alone was. It was... _fuck._

 

“Storm hit and you led your people to safety. _You_ did, Daryl. Then.”

 

Aaron sighed, and Daryl felt his face flood with color because he knew... he just fucking _knew_ what Aaron was gonna say next.

 

“I.... saw you. And Rick. In the rain. Just for a second. I saw his face when he left, and your face in that flash of lightning after Glenn called for you.” He looked sheepish. “Just so you’re aware- this job doesn’t usually see that sort of thing. I. er... try to give people privacy, honest.”

 

Daryl felt hysterical laughter pulling at him, and was afraid if he started, he’d never stop.  

 

Aaron itched at some dried blood on his temple, and continued. “But that was it. I knew I had to bring you people back. When I saw what you did, and how you... Daryl. _You_ gave so much to those people...” He sighed, then trailed off as he stared gloomily at the walkers trying to get in.

 

Daryl couldn’t have looked Aaron in the face if someone had held a knife to his neck.  It had to be bullshit. _Rick_ lead them to safety. _Rick_  gave up parts of himself to keep them safe, to make sure they had what they needed. _He_ provided. _He_ cared.

 

Aaron sighed, giving Daryl the space he needed to think about what he had said. It was... well, Daryl wasn’t sure how much of a life he had left, but it gutted him to realize that to Aaron, Daryl was just as much of a part of their group. The little bit of hero worship they all had for Rick... Aaron felt the same way about him, because of what he’d seen him do at what was the lowest part of Daryl’s crappy life. No... that wasn’t true. Aaron was telling him that he made the decision to bring their whole family back to Alexandria, because he ... what. He trusted him? Trusted _Daryl Dixon?_

 

“You were right. We should have kept looking for that guy in the poncho. I shouldn't have given up. You didn't.” Aaron sounded like he was about to cry.  It made Daryl’s throat close up.

 

The words seemed surreal. Hell, their situation was common, but someone telling him that he’d been right? That he’d done the right thing? That was... wow.  Daryl swallowed, hard. It was one thing for Rick, or Michonne, or Carol to tell him this sort of stuff. Any of the three of them would smack him upside the head when he talked like he was less. Hell, that’s what had set Rick off in the first place, when they’d kissed in the rain.  But hearing it now from someone who wasn’t one of their family-  it... it felt... good.  Right. It felt like validation, Daryl supposed. And if that made him an asshole for needing to hear that, or for feeling damn near warm and fuzzy feelings after hearing it, so be it.

 

Well _fuck_.

 

Aaron hadn’t been manipulative. He didn’t think the dude had a mean bone in his body, unless maybe Eric was threatened or something.  Aaron hadn’t said that shit to make Daryl do something stupidly heroic, but he knew that there was no fucking way he was not going to fight to make sure Aaron would go back to Alexandria unharmed.  Hell. Daryl didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave things like he’d left things with Rick, but... no.  He could do this. He could do this for Aaron, for the man who had managed to stay gentle with all this bullshit that never left them.

 

But he was gonna have a fucking cigarette first.

 

“I'll go.” Daryl’s voice was low, choked with all the things he couldn’t say.

 

Aaron whipped his head around to stare at him. Daryl flicked his zippo and lit up, inhaling the dark smoke, feeling the hit of the nicotine hit his bloodstream.  “I'll lead them out. You make a break for the fence.”

 

“No, no, no. This was _my_ fault.”

 

“It wasn't a question. And this ain't your decision.” Daryl found the courage to make eye-contact with Aaron. He remembered Eric’s ‘oh my god I’m so sorry’ face as Daryl stood up to leave from the table and he knew he was doing the right thing. He looked back down at his lap. “ It ain't nobody's fault. Just let me finish my smoke first.”

 

Aaron looked like he wanted to either burst into tears or shit himself. Or maybe both. Hell if Daryl knew. But Aaron’s voice shook when he spoke. “No. You don't draw them away. We fight.” His voice cracked.  “We go for the fence. We do it _together_. All right? Whether we make it or not, we do it together. We have to.”

 

Daryl’s lips twitched. It was a relief in a way, although he had meant it when he said the’d give Aaron the chance. But he didn’t want to die alone. Even if they didn’t get very far- and Aaron was right on that score. The walkers had to be four bodies deep by now- their chances of actually _making_ it to the fence were shit.

 

Daryl nodded, and he glanced back at Aaron. “All right.” It was Daryl’s turn for his voice to shake.

 

“You ready?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Aaron tightened his grip on his machete and for the first time, Daryl noticed that Aaron had lost his bag of supplies somewhere in their mad dash towards the van and away from the walkers.. Daryl changed the grip of his hunting knife, and swung his pack and his crossbow onto his shoulder.

 

“We'll go on three. One, two--”

 

To their shock, one of the walker’s heads _splatted_ against the van’s window. `

 

Daryl saw his own quizzical confusion reflected in Aaron’s surprised face.  They saw another head explode and a _thwack!_ _Thwack! Thwack!_ And what was a very clear break from walkers in the throng around the van.

 

“GO!” Daryl didn’t care if it was a fucking trap. It was a chance out, and that was all they needed. Aaron scrambled out, and Daryl followed, so closely that he could smell the rank stench of fear on Aaron’s body.  

They stumbled out into the light like colts walking without their moms for the first time, but quickly jolted into action, helping the man with a ... was that a _staff?..._ into killing off the few walkers that had darted forward when they saw their prey out closer to them.

 

Without needing to speak they all made for the fence. Daryl ran pell-mell, still not entirely certain that they had just been saved; waiting for some other shoe to drop.  Aaron managed to split one of the dead ones’ heads open, and Daryl got one that went for their savior’s back in the eye.

 

“Come on. Come on, get in here.” The man with the staff spoke sharply, but Daryl and Aaron had already darted through the gates.

 

Aaron shoved them shut with a clang of metal, and shoved the tire iron through the chain links to reinforce it. Daryl shot one on the outside in the head, and the man stared at him with something very like respect. The rest of the walkers made it to the fence, and Daryl had a second to gasp for oxygen from the other side, still not quite believing that they were safe.

 

“That was-- oh-- thank you.” Aaron sounded like he was about to hug the guy, and Daryl couldn’t blame him at all. “I'm Aaron, this is Daryl.”

 

“Morgan.”

 

Still out of breath, (he really needed to quit the damn cigarettes already) Daryl squinted at the man who had saved them. “Why?”  Why would someone put themselves into that kind of situation, to save people they didn’t even fuckin’ _know_?

 

“Why? Because _all_ life is precious, Daryl.” The man smiled, and Daryl cocked his head, tuning out Aaron as he spoke about their community, inviting the Morgan to travel with them. Daryl was under the impression that he and Aaron together would decide who was worthy enough to join their community, but given that the man had just braved an entire herd of walkers to save their asses, he didn’t really think he had room to bitch.

 

“I thank you, but I’m on my way to somewhere. But.” Morgan frowned. “I’m actually a little lost.”  He fumbled for a second, long enough for Aaron and Daryl to meet each other’s gaze out of the corner of their eyes, and held out what looked like a map.

 

Daryl reached out on autopilot to grab it, unfolding the blood-spattered paper.

 

The words written on it caused Daryl’s heart to actually stop in his chest. He could feel it, the arhythmic beat, the brief second of everything inside of him freezing at once as his lungs tried to jumpstart into action again.

 

 ** _Sorry I was an asshole. Come to Washington. The new world is gonna need_** ** _Rick_** **_Grimes_** ** _._**

Seeing Rick’s name was a punch to the gut.  Daryl looked down at his hand as though it were someone else’s, watching the fingers tremble a little in shock that he could not seem to hide.

 

Aaron craned his neck to read then gasped in shock.

 

Daryl swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he met Morgan’s gaze, the other man knew that something was up; that Daryl’s reaction was not the reaction of someone impartial.

 

“What?”

 

“You-.” Daryl tried again when his voice cracked. “You gotta come with us.”

  
  
**TBC**  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. :) 
> 
> Hopefully this can be continued more quickly now that glorious summer is here.


	17. Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tweaked a couple of minor things because I thought it worked better. In the ep, Glenn goes to Rick right after it happened. I moved everything to the morning. **THANK YOU** to **FoxyK** for the ninjabeta. Any mistakes are mine. :D

**Chapter 8- Comfortably Numb**

Rick sighed, and rolled out of bed.  There was a heaviness to everything, like there always seemed to be when someone didn’t come back from a run. In this case, Deanna had lost her youngest, Glenn was so full of rage that he was almost unrecognizable as the kind of sweet kid they all loved, Noah was lost, Tara was in a fuckin’  _ coma _ , and... 

_ Shit _ .

Rick pinched the top of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.  When he’d spoken to Carol and Daryl about his need to take this place; his desperate desire to keep his people behind walls, he had meant every single word. Now though, with Deanna and Reg in shocked mourning, and Carol telling him about Pete, and Pete hinting that he’d seen him and Jessie together at the party.... A part of him kinda wanted to go back to bed for a few hours. 

“Dad! Michonne made that egg thing!” 

Michonne had a skill with powdered eggs and unsweetened canned milk that was damn near unnatural. Rick’s stomach gave a hopeful gurgle, and he sighed, throwing on his clothes and making his way downstairs. Putting on the uniform did give Rick a sense of... normalcy. Familiarity. He might not have been 100% sure about Alexandria’s residents, but he couldn’t deny the feeling of assuming the role of a cop gave him. For a second, Rick had half a mind to go and get the hat he’d given Carl. 

Rick shut his bedroom door and jogged down the last few stairs. 

After some shuffling, they had eventually figured out how to best divvy up the sleeping arrangements.  In one townhouse lived Rick, Carl, Judith, Carol, Daryl, Michonne, Sasha, and... well... Noah.  In the other lived Glenn, Maggie, Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene.  Rick sighed and briskly rubbed his hand over his face. They’d have to sort out Noah’s leftover gear. He made a mental note to make sure to get with Glenn later, hopefully before the younger man exploded because of whatever the fuck it was that had gone so wrong. Maybe he could talk, calm things down some. 

Rick dressed, brushed his teeth (God he didn’t think he’d ever take that for granted again!), and made his way down the stairs while he buttoned his shirt up.. 

Judith squeaked and banged her spoon against the high chair table, and Carl looked over at him briefly, as though to do a quick eye check to make sure that he was unharmed, before going back to feeding his sister.  

“Michonne went to go see if she can help with Deanna. I think Glenn and the rest want to meet in the infirmary, so Tara can be a part of it all.”

Rick raised his eyebrows. She’d only barely woken up. Seemed a bit too soon, but he wasn’t her doctor. Speaking of Pete, Rick wasn’t entirely sure he wanted  _ that _ particular audience listening to them either. 

He sat down at the little breakfast nook table and had just dumped some of the scrambled eggs onto his toast, when there was a quick little  _ ratt-a-tatt-a-tat  _ on the door frame, the sound of a screen door opening, and an exhausted-looking Maggie stuck her head in through the small space. 

“Rick...” 

Rick nodded and held up one finger. He didn’t really think that he was going to keep Carl from knowing what happened- and to be honest, he didn’t really want to. Carl had proven himself time and time again, and he was just as much a part of this family as anyone else.  He grabbed the too-strong tea they’d been given and gulped it. There was no sugar, but the jolt of caffeine was like being hit by a damn bus.  Rick leaned over to kiss Judith’s forehead, dodging scrambled egg kisses like the pro he was, and kissed the top of Carl’s head before scooping up his sandwich and getting up to follow Maggie.  “Meet us in the infirmary when you can. It’ll take awhile to get everyone there.”

“Actually... Mrs. Needlemeyer wanted to know if it was okay if she watched Judy for an hour or so?”

Rick stared at the way his son’s ears turned bright red. Carl wouldn’t meet his gaze, and Rick figured that the poor kid needed some time to... er. Himself. 

And boy  _ that _ was an awkward goddamn thought. 

“Yeah. No problem. Just make sure you’re back on time. We’ll fill you in on--” Rick gestured to Maggie and Carl nodded, still avoiding Rick’s gaze. 

“Daryl’s not back yet?” Maggie’s voice sounded as leaden and tired as she looked. She looked vaguely ill when Rick stuffed his makeshift breakfast into his mouth and Rick was surprised at the faint tint of shame he felt. He’d forgotten about manners.  He shook his head, trying to eat a little more slowly.  He chewed, then swallowed as they walked down the steps and towards the infirmary. 

“No. Still out with Aaron.” 

Maggie’s eyebrows rose.  “And how do we feel about that?” 

Rick had a hard time not showing  _ exactly _ how he felt about that. He hadn’t expected to feel much of anything when Daryl and Aaron took off. He certainly hadn’t thought that he’d be this worried or this... this...  _ something _ . Not quite pissed, but fucking livid that Daryl left. Guilt at needing the information, but not being the one to go out with Daryl to get it. It had always been him and Daryl- or at least if it hadn’t, it sure seemed that way. Rick’s gut squirmed at the uncomfortable  feeling, at the remembered way he’d been so mistrustful of Aaron back in the barn and he had to shove that clench of... whatever it was- way back down where it came from. 

“He’ll be back when he’s back. Don't think there’s much trouble he can’t get himself out of,” Rick didn’t think that his oh-so-casual tone hid much from Maggie, but he was willing to try. 

Maggie must have been occupied with her own thoughts, because she let it slide. 

The steps to the infirmary sounded strangely hollow as his bootheels slowly walked up them, Maggie’s tiny feet barely making a sound. The screen door squeaked, and Rosita looked up from where she was applying a butterfly bandage to Glenn’s head. 

Pete was nowhere to be found.  Rick didn’t really mind that so much- he wasn’t ready to talk to the man until he’d brought up a few truths with Deanna.  Tara slept fitfully on her bed, looking pale.  Eugene sat next to her, eyes red. Occasionally, his hand would steal out to brush her hair, and Tara would calm with a little sound.  Even more surprising, Abraham sat next to Eugene, glaring at the bandage on Tara’s head as though he could personally do it harm if only he concentrated enough.  

Maggie made her way to Glenn, and Rick followed.  Glenn kissed Maggie, leaning on her a little, and for a second Rick envied that strength they had together. When one was weak, the other was strong. It always made him happy and hopeful that he could have something like that, even with all this crazy day-to-day shit they lived.  

Last night, listening to Carol’s voice outlining just how Pete was going to be a problem, looking over at Jessie and her kids and remembering other evenings on other front porches with his family in the not-so-distant past. Rick didn’t usually let himself think of Lori and all the mistakes they’d both made. His brush with madness wasn’t all that far off, and he didn’t much care to have it returned. What had happened with Joe and his Claimers had been bad enough. Still, Jessie had had a sense of sweetness about her. Rick didn’t much care for the idea that her husband was hurting her or his eldest, Ron. 

“Let’s take this outside. I don’t want to disturb her.” The strained notes in Glenn’s voice fairly screamed his exhaustion.  Rick knew that everyone in this room had clicked with Tara in a way that he hadn’t when they’d all gone on from Gabriel’s church without him.  He didn’t begrudge them that closeness; it wasn’t all that different from how him, Michonne, Carl, and Daryl had bonded after Joe and the road to Terminus.  Still, it was just one more notch in the tally box of why they needed to  _ stay  _ in Alexandria. 

“That’s fine.” Rick nodded to everyone and left, walking down to the little gazebo where he and Pete had their little conversation last night. Maybe it had been dumb for Rick to let Pete see his real face- the face of what was to come. Pete was spineless.  Rick knew that. That didn’t excuse him. Not for what Carol and Sam said he was doin’ to Jessie.  There wasn’t anything that would excuse a man from  _ that _ .

They were a sad little parade, Rick, then Glenn, then Maggie, the two of them holding hands.   Rick had not been unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling of constantly being watched by their new neighbors, and knew this would at least afford them a little privacy. 

He hitched his ass onto the railing and waited for the two of them to settle themselves.  They still held hands, and Rick was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get even a hair between the solid line of the outline of where their thighs and shoulders touched.  Not that he wanted to. Rick pitied the dumb fuck that tried to separate  _ these _ two. 

“It was all fucked.” 

Rick listened as the words came out of Glenn’s mouth, watching Maggie’s sweet face get more and more pale and knew that their problems were more real than ever.  First though, first they had to bury Noah. Rick knew that Glenn needed that. They all did. 

Rick understood what Glenn was telling him. He did. He just didn’t know a way for everything to happen with everyone being happy at their end.  Carol had said it. So had Carl. Hell, Daryl had practically shouted it from the rooftops, and for him that was quite a feat. 

These people, the Alexandrians, were like sheep being lead to the slaughter. No. Sheep that were in front of the knife and refused to acknowledge what was going to happen.  

Rick just wasn’t sure if he wanted to be the one to swing the knife. 

***

Rick pushed open the door of the dilapidated old house so hard that the weather-warped wood almost snapped back to hit him in the face.  With a silent snarl, he pushed it back so forcefully that he broke one of the hinges, then grabbed the corner and kicked it as hard as he could.  He didn’t fucking  _ care _ that he was making noise out here, out behind the walls.  He kicked it again, and again, using the steel-toed boots to disintegrate the wood until it splintered and broke. 

How fucking  _ dare _ she?  Letting Jessie be hurt just because she needed that man’s skill as a surgeon? Like that was some sort of gold pass? Who the fuck allowed her to be judge, jury and exe-- no. She wasn’t executioner.  She had people do her dirty work for her. 

Rick had utterly  no doubt that Deanna knew that Nicholas had been the one lying.  There was absolutely no  _ way  _ that some sniveling little coward was able to pull one over on a woman like that; absolutely no way.  Deanna knew that her son was in charge, and didn’t care what happened, how many others died as long her Aiden came back home.  Glenn had said as much. Some pipsqueak little kid who had taken a few ROTC classes in high school leading their scouting parties?  _ Please _ . 

Rick picked up a rickety chair and swung it, breaking out what was left of the window.  _ That _ was the way things were. Rick given his marching orders from the Queen herself- toe the line she shoved him behind, dance like a fucking puppet on the string she controlled, or they’d be out.  Oh yeah. Rick knew politicians like her.  She was personable, ‘cause that was her job. She was incredibly intelligent, ‘cause that’s how she stayed successful. She was absolutely fucking ruthless when she was forced to be, and with her kid dead, she was floundering a little. 

But just to let Pete slide? To let how he behaved just... happen?

You didn’t hit the people that loved you. You sure as shit didn’t hit your woman or your kid. Rick saw Jessie’s eyes as she’d cut his hair, saw Sam’s face as he’d gone looking for Carol. 

Babes in the fuckin’ woods. 

Rick heard the growl and rolled his eyes.  He stepped outside and knifed the walker in the head, then  turned and got the one that had followed it in the temple.  He flung the viscera off his knife with a little  _ splat _ and started, trying to catch his breath. 

When Daryl got back, they could reconsider. Maybe Carol was right. Maybe it  _ was _ time to take charge here. Oh yeah, Rick understood that sometimes the leader had to make shitty decisions. The good of the many outweighed the good of the one.  Yeah, Rick got that. But there was still right from wrong, even now. There was still things you just didn’t do, and sacrifice Jessie and her kids like lambs staked out for the wolves was  _ not _ how you fuckin’ ran things. Maybe. Maybe, if he talked to Jessie, got her to tell him what was going on, he could fix this.

He’d certainly handled domestic dispute cases before. 

Rick huffed out a breath and clenched his fists, forcing himself to calm the fuck down. Deanna might be doing a shitty job running Alexandria, barely keeping it treading water, but her son had just been killed. Rick knew he best keep his ego out of it and not take Deanna... well. Not taking her seriously was stupid. But he wouldn’t take her threats to heart.  She’d had Aaron go looking for them after all. She knew she needed Rick as much as Rick and his family needed Alexandria. 

Yeah. 

He’d calmly go back inside the walls and go talk to Jessie. He’d  state his case reasonably and explain that she needed help; that Rick could be the one to help her.  Coming out here had been a dumbass thing to do, and if Daryl could see him now he’d just be shaking his head at the temper tantrum Rick had just thrown. Daryl would have raised his eyebrows and flicked his gaze at the walkers, saying without words how fucking stupid Rick had just acted. 

Rick cleaned off the blade of his knife on the walker’s skirt and sheathed his weapon, making his way quickly back to the town proper. He made a note that no one was on gate duty, and glanced up to see Sasha’s shadow as she kept the sniper post from the belltower. He snorted. At least he’d done that much. 

It was easy enough to find his way to Jessie’s house. Jessie and  _ Pete _ ’s house. The garage door was open. 

“Jessie.”  

The smell of cigarette smoke was sharp mixing sharply with the other scents of turpentine and paint.

“Hey.” She jumped up, flinching at his voice. It made Rick sick to his stomach to see. Jessie whirled and stubbed out the cigarette on a nearby crate. “I don't want Ron and Sam to know about those.” 

“Well, your secret's safe.” Rick tried for a smile and knew he missed by a mile. It occurred to him, and rather suddenly at that, what Carol was hinting at last night.  Jessie looked almost fragile now, and faintly embarrassed. Some long-dormant instinct swam to the surface as he saw her body language, the way she shifted to the left, the way her shoulders hunched.  Carol had been the same way when she saw that he was a police officer way back in Atlanta. 

Yeah, he knew what that meant- that initial fear of authority. Of  _ male _ authority.

Too well.

“Noah was a sweet kid.” Jessie sighed.  “But Tara, she's-- she's in good hands with Pete.” 

Rick’s lips tightened. Maybe if he was more blunt... “He's hitting you. He's hurting you. It has to stop.”

“It will.”  The words were too calm, automatic. Meaningless. 

Rick raised his eyebrow. “How?” 

Jessie had trouble holding his gaze. Rick didn’t want to force it, but also knew that eye contact was important if she was going to overcome this.  She hitched a breath. “There are things in his life that happened.”

_ Oh for fuck’s sake.  _ “I don't care.” 

That got her ire up. “Look, it was like this before and he got help. I helped him and things were good. I can fix it.” 

“No, you can't. But I can.” As soon as the words fell out of his mouth Rick froze, shocked at himself. Last night- last night he wanted to hurt Pete, to take out the threat he represented.  Now that was wrapped up in the realization that Jessie was part of it.

Here was the part of his life that was missing.  She wasn’t like Lori, but in a way, she reminded him of that bit of his wife that existed way back when he’d first been married.  Jessie needed his help, his guidance. He could teach her how to survive in this world. How to--

“No, what-- what can you do? What are you gonna do? You gonna put him in  _ jail _ ? You're only gonna make things worse.”

Rick blinked, shifting his weight forward. “If it's gotten worse, it means he's killed you. That's what's next. And I'm not gonna let that happen.” How could she not see this? 

“Why do you care? Why is this so important to you? Now? You've made it. You have a home for your kids. Rick, what are you doing?”

“I'm... I’m trying to help.” 

“I don't see that. I'm  _ married _ . Okay? I can take care of myself. We have to take care of  _ ourselves _ .” Crying, Jessie turned and slammed her hand on the garage door opener. Rick stepped back automatically, watching the door shut, feeling like shit.

He turned, her words ringing in his head. “ _I’m_ _married_.” 

Rick couldn’t say that he’d never thought idly of cheating on Lori, but never seriously. More in a ‘man what would  _ that _ be like’ sort of way, usually when Shane was ribbing him over something. Even later, when everything was starting to go to shit, Rick hadn’t ever thought of himself as someone who could lie on such an intimate level.  He wasn’t a cheater.

He turned, walking down the block. Dimly he was aware he was struggling to catch his breath, like Jessie had sucker punched him instead of closing a door in his face. 

Even now, all these months later the remembered realization of all of the ways he’d punished Lori for her betrayal, punished her when _ none of that shit should have mattered _ .... 

Rick looked up at the elderly couple sitting on their porch. The woman was wearing jewellery and some kind of scarf. If she’d ever even been outside of the walls, Rick would eat Carl’s hat.  His gaze jerked to the teenage girl sitting with her back to the wall,  _ right next to the unmanned gate _ laughing down at something in her book, oblivious to her surroundings.  He sucked in a shocked breath at the boy and his dog and in mere seconds Rick was hit with the agonizing memory of  _ Sasha shooting the wild dogs on the side of the road and he wanted to puke at the thick, greasy taste of the dogmeat but Carl and Judith were eating actual food after so long and he couldn’t do better--- _

Rick staggered, whirling as he jogged up the stairs and let himself into Jessie’s house. 

_ No _ . No, these people had no fucking clue. The  _ needed _ him to be here, to take charge of things or they wouldn’t make it the rest of the year. Rick could give them that normalcy that they were desperate for. Right now? Right now they were clueless, but Rick knew he could protect them, if given the chance.

How they made it this long was a damn mystery. 

“What are you doing?” 

Rick was done fucking around. The lives of her and her children were  _ not _ less important than that fucking wifebeater. He had to make her understand, and he’d do whatever the fuck he had to do to make it stick. 

“You know Sam asked for a gun? To protect you.” Rick threw the words at her just as violently as  her husband threw his fists. He watched her face crumple and for a second hated what he was doing. The fact that it was true was somehow even worse. He remembered the first time Carl held a gun, how it had looked deadly and malignant in his hand, like a cancer ready to snuff out his innocence. The image of Carl’s terrible and proud face after he’d shot Shane had haunted Rick for  _ weeks _ . 

Jessie’s lips trembled as she took a step back from Rick. “You shouldn't be here,” she whispered, looking guiltily around her tidy house. 

Rick knew that he had to try to make her understand. “Jessie, in here, you can't see it, but it's the same. It's the same as out there. We have food and roofs over our heads, but you don't get to just live. You don't get to put it off or wish it away, Jessie. If you don't fight, you die. And... and I don't want you to die. I can-- I can help you. I can keep you and your boys safe. I  _ can _ . All you have to do is say yes.”  He watched as her eyes swam with tears and he wanted desperately to make this okay for her, to protect her from the darkness he knew was out there. She deserved that, if only for the kindness she’d shown him and his family. 

When she spoke, she spoke clearly, even though her voice wobbled with emotion. “Would you do this for someone else? Would you do this for anyone?” 

Rick knew what she was asking. He understood what she wanted to know. If she did this, if she took this step, then she needed to know that someone was there for her. That this fight she’d been fighting for so long wasn’t just on her fragile shoulders.

“No.” He wouldn’t do this for just anyone. Not this.  “No.” 

“Yes.”

Her tiny whisper seemed to float in the air for only seconds before the heavy footstep and Pete’s voice, on-the-surface calm, but seething fury underneath interrupted them.  “Rick. What are you doing here?”

With Jessie’s shaky ‘yes’ ringing in his ears, Rick knew he was an unwanted observer as he watched Jessie try to diffuse the situation. The thought wasn’t kind, but Rick knew with her pitiful attempts that he was doing the right thing. Pete barely looked at his wife, staring at Rick like a rival dog over a piece of meat. 

“Just  _ go _ , Pete.”  

Incredulous, Pete’s voice rose in intensity. “What have you been saying to each other? Huh? What have you been doing?!” 

The glare turned on his wife, and just like that, Rick was done with this. “Pete, you and me are gonna leave now.”

Rick saw Pete’s surgeon’s hands clench. “You come into my house...”

“Pete, you and me are leaving.” Rick felt the heavy weight of the gun at his back and it took years and years of training not to show his hand by grasping it. 

Pete drew so close that spittle hit Rick on his chin. “You're leaving right now. You think you're the law? You actually think you have a  _ say  _ in anything here?” 

“Step back,” Rick spat, truly pissed off now. Pete wasn’t the first asshole bigger than him to pick a fight. Wouldn’t be the first fight that Rick finished either. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Pete shouted, uncaring of Rick or the authority he represented. In a blink, Rick saw Shane in the dark fields of Hershel’s farm, suspecting what Shane had planned and giving him just enough rope to hang himself.  Rick could smell his own terrified sweat, and the faint spiciness of the deodorant that Shane wore.  Rick remembered tasting the scent of it on his wife. 

Rick glared, trying to blink ‘now’ back into focus instead of ‘then’. “Someone who's trying not to kill you.”

Pete swung. 

In a way, the pain of the fist cracking on his jaw felt good, like someone had released the leash holding Rick back from doing what he’d wanted to do as soon as he’d seen the red mark on Jessie’s wrist and Pete’s drunken, smug face.  Rick’s head snapped back and he threw himself into the fight. He felt the edge of something digging into his side when Pete threw him against the wall, and heard something made out of glass shatter on the ground when he kicked Pete, punching him hard in the kidneys. From a long ways away he heard someone shouting for someone named Pete to stop it, b _ ut he couldn’t breathe because something clamped around his throat and Rick fought with everything he could to get Shane’s hands from around his throat because he knew this. He knew how this ended and he-- _

\--Rick flew through the window onto the porch, then fell onto the pavement. He blinked the sweat and the blood out of his eyes, stunned to see Pete barrelling through the hole from where the window had been. 

Wait...

Pete jumped him, going for Rick’s throat. Rick was dimly aware that Pete had hit Jessie, sending her flying, and Rick couldn’t make himself stop. He saw his fists swinging, saw his hands clutching Pete’s, no, Shane’s, no...  _ Pete’s _ throat. Rick heard himself shouting something. He knew that if Shane didn’t accept his leadership then they’d all be broken beyond belief and he had to make them understand that they were all going to fucking  _ die _ if they didn’t  _ wake the fuck up _ and Rick blinked and Deanna was there, her ire up and looking at him like he was shit on the bottom of her shoe.

Rick’s face throbbed and his head hurt and he didn’t understand when he had pulled the gun, but it felt cold and hard; solid in his hand.

“Your way is gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed. It's already gotten people killed. And I'm not gonna stand by and just let it happen. If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by--”

Pain exploded on the back of Rick’s head before he could finish the thought. 

***

Rick became slowly aware that his head hurt like a motherfucking  _ bitch. _ He tested his jaw and groaned, feeling stupid as hell.  Every single idiotic decision he’d just made played back in his mind’s eye in glorified technicolor with every echoing, painful throb of his head. 

He thought he saw  _ Shane _ ? What the  _ fuck _ ? 

Rick’s recollection of that hazy time proceeding Lori’s death was sparse. He remembered parts of his break from reality: the sound of Beth’s sweet voice, echoing through the prison as she rocked Judith to sleep, when Rick couldn’t bring himself to touch her, certain that the guilt and despair that stained his hands would somehow taint his tiny daughter. Hershel had understood. Maggie had lost trust in him, and Daryl had been absolutely furious with Rick for going outside of the gates of the prison without a weapon. It had taken a long time for Rick to realize that what he was seeing was not the reality that everyone else was seeing. 

The voices on the phone- all people he’d lost- had sounded so  _ real. _

Maybe Rick was cracking up. 

_ Shane. Take a fuckin’ note, man. _

Rick groaned. He could feel his head throbbing, and was pretty sure Pete had loosened a few of his teeth.  He heard a familiar swish of braids and cracked open the one eye that didn’t hurt overly much- to see a very unimpressed-looking Michonne staring at him.  Rick immediately remembered the solid  _ thwack _ on the back of his head and winced, shame flooding him.  He wasn’t mad at her- she’d done what she needed to do because he’d been off his fucking nut, but Rick did kind of wish that she hadn’t hit him quite so hard.  

He chuckled, ruefully.

“What's so funny?”  

Yep. Shit. She sounded pissed.  Rick squinted, trying to see clearly. The room he was in was dimly lit,  but enough light came through the pulled blinds that it made him see little swimmy spots for a few seconds before he focused.  He wondered if he had a concussion. He probably did, if the weird, floaty feeling in his head was anything to go by. 

Rick didn’t think that he could adequately explain to Michonne’s satisfaction exactly why he found the fact he was here so damn funny. 

“You were here the whole time?”

“All night. What's so funny?”

Rick squeezed the bit of forehead at the top of his nose, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He knew that ‘Chonne was nothing if not tenacious when it came to chasing down something that she wanted to know.  Rick sighed.

“It's-- it's like the train car. After the whole thing, I'm still here.” 

Michonne’s eyes turned even more cold, and it started to dawn on Rick that she wasn’t pissed. She was  _ hurt.  _

“Deanna wanted you in here, calm things down. Rosita patched you up. Carl came by for a while. I sent him home. Rick. What are you doing?”

Rick just stared at her, flooded with guilt. Carl. Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ , he’d pushed Carl away from him. Had he been hurt? Did Rick scare him? He was disgusted with himself. 

“We put Pete in another house. You could have told me what was happening.”

“It moved fast. And then Noah. I couldn't tell you about the gun.”

Rick swallowed, painfully.  It sounded about as pathetic as he felt. He sat up, straightening his aching back. Pete must have gotten him in the kidneys, or he pulled something because it was really damn painful. 

“No, you couldn't,” Michonne leaned forward a little bit, and Rick tried to explain. 

“You wanted this place. We had to stop being out there.” Rick couldn’t help the slight sarcasm when he waved his hand around.  “Well, we're here.” For now. For now they were here. Deanna probably wasn’t too happy with him, given what Rick had vague memories of yelling to the assembled crowd. Given the way Rick felt like he’d just pissed off his mom  _ and _ his sister; disappointed them like a kid who knew better but fucked up anyway. Rick’s guilt echoed his pounding head and aching ribs. 

Michonne scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Well, you just said you weren't.” 

There was a second of tension before the door opened. Rick almost found the words, almost managed to beg for Michonne’s understanding, if not her forgiveness. The bitch of it all was that Rick was just starting to figure out that he  _ had _ her forgiveness. That knowledge somehow hurt more than anything else. Carol, Glenn and Abraham walked inside the room, taking measure of Rick and Michonne, probably reading entire novels in their body language. 

Michonne kept her steady gaze on Rick. “Where'd you get the gun?”

Carol broke in, speaking quickly. “You took it, right? From the armory? That was stupid. Why did you do it?”

Huhn. The lie rolled off her tongue with no hesitation. Rick wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated this, but could understand Carol’s need to keep her part quiet. He just didn’t much care for the confirmation that she didn’t trust Michonne- but he hadn’t done much better. Rick could have told her the plan, and chose not to. Or, hell. Glenn was there and so was Abraham. Maybe Carol didn’t trust one of  _ them _ , but it still meant that their family was splintering; that the center wasn’t gonna hold. 

“Just in case.”

Yeah. Michonne didn’t buy that shit for a minute. Rick didn’t think that her ‘unimpressed’ face could get even more unimpressed but, then again, Michonne was constantly a surprise. 

Glenn frowned. “Deanna's planning to have a meeting tonight. For anyone who wants to.”

“To kick Rick out?” Abraham sounded like he was ready to lay hands on a weapon and start shooting, like the idea of doing any of this without Rick was incomprehensible. 

“To  _ try _ .” Carol’s tone of warning and suggestion left nothing to the imagination. There’d be a war if the Alexandrianites tried to split them up. 

“We don't know that. Maggie's with Deanna right now. She's gonna find out what it is.” Glenn looked exhausted, and as Rick’s gaze darted from him to Abraham’s flat gaze, to Carol’s cold one, he knew that his actions, this  _ meeting _ was more than just about Rick. 

All of them.  Deanna would kick  _ all _ of them out if she perceived a threat to her community- and look. There  _ was _ a threat to her community- and he was sitting right here.  Rick went cold as he finally realized something: his actions were gonna get either Rick exiled, and his people bloodsoaked and either back out there or living in here at a terrible price. Rick could see it on Glenn’s face.  He already knew what Rick was gonna have them do. What they’d all do to back Rick up, and Glenn knew it would hurt him to do it.  Glenn hadn’t killed anyone even with all this and the terrible knowledge; the pure exhaustion and acceptance on the gentle man’s face was both humbling and terrifying. 

“At the meeting, you say you were worried about someone being abused and no one was doing anything about it. You say you took a gun just to be sure that Jessie was safe from a man who wound up attacking you. You say you'll do whatever you want them to. Just tell them a story that they want to hear. It's what I've been doing since I got here.” 

Both Glenn and Abraham looked at Carol at that, eyebrows raised in identical looks of surprise, like Carol’s duplicity had just resonated, clicking with an almost tangible sound. 

“Why?” Michonne didn’t look surprised by Carol, or anything she was saying. Rick briefly wondered how much of Carol’s, Daryl’s and his plan was secret at all. 

“Because these people are children and children like stories.” Carol rolled her eyes, clearly done with all their stupidity.

“What happens after all the nice words and they still try to kick him out?” Abraham crossed his arms over this thick chest, a look on his face like he was humoring something that was going to turn and bite him. 

“They're guarding the armory now,” There was a tone in Glenn’s voice that Rick couldn’t quite identify. 

“We still have knives.” Carol was defensive. “That's all we'll need against them.”

Rick waited a second, trying to concentrate on what mattered.  He couldn’t just take over, not if it would... not if he wanted Glenn to be able to look in him the eyes again. When he’d thought of the Alexandria community as something that was theirs, well. Yeah. He’d lost sight of himself a little bit.  Seeing Jessie’s need, her desperation to make due in a world where everything could go to hell in a second had... well. He’d be lying if he didn’t say it interested him a little.  Still, they couldn’t come at the Alexandriaites with guns blazing, and not just because their guns were locked up in the armory, but because....

... they had to live with themselves after. Looking at Glenn’s tired but resigned face, knowing he’d just seen Noah ripped apart in front of him...  

Rick swallowed, hard.  “Well, tonight at the meeting, if it looks like it's going bad, I whistle. Carol grabs Deanna, I take Spencer, you grab Reg, Glenn and Abraham cover us, watch the crowd.”

“We can talk to them.” Michonne’s voice wavered slightly, and Rick felt absolutely sick with the terrible knowledge of what he’d just set into motion. He wanted to be alone, to try to think of a way to get out of this.

God, he missed Daryl.

_ That _ truth caused his throat to tighten. 

Rick wanted Daryl to be there, to talk to, to tell him that he was being a fucking idiot. Because Rick knew that he  _ was _ being a fucking idiot, but... Daryl not being here was like a limb that had been removed, a constant need that surprised him when he realized that he was still constantly looking for Daryl to just show up, to walk through that door like Abraham, Glenn and Carol had.  All of this had the feeling of a runaway train flying downhill with Rick standing right in its path, unable to move. Rick’s mind whirled, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t  send the train moving faster. “Yeah, we will. If we can't get through, we take the three of them and say we'll slit their throats.” 

“Like at Terminus?” Glenn’s voice wavered, and Rick knew Glenn still dreamed about what had happened to them. 

“No, we just tell 'em. They give us the armory and it's over.”

“Did you want this?”

The words hurt. Rick knew that he would have to figure out how he could make this right, make it so his people trusted him again. Glenn’s face still wasn’t judgemental, or mad. Just so, so tired. 

“No. I hit my limit. I-- I screwed up.” Waving his arms hurt his ribs which punctuated his stupidity. “And here we are. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna sleep some more.”  Rick turned over, ignoring everyone, trying to pin down when everything got fucked.  

The thought of Daryl, the absolute need to have him there was terrifying. Rick didn’t want to need anyone that much. Daryl had left on terms that made Rick wince with shame. None of them had kicked him out, but they sure as shit hadn’t gone out of their way to include him. Michonne was so enamored of this place that she’d hung up her sword. Carol had dug a place in with these people, buried in casseroles and using cardigans like armor. Carl even had tried to blend in, to find some sort of ‘normal.’  But Rick? Rick had been the worst out of all of them. He’d attached himself to Jessie like some kind of... of... out of work knight in tarnished armor. Rick had to ask himself if he would have done what he’d done if she hadn’t been so sweet, or so pretty. Hell, innocent even. Rick wanted what she represented so badly that he’d gone a little crazy with it.  With Jessie, he didn’t have to worry about how good it had felt to kiss Daryl in the rain, or how much he craved the other man’s closeness. With her he didn’t have to think about how he’d stood there like an idiot, blathering on about something or another while Daryl showered. Rick had wanted to join him, and only Daryl’s words in the Camaro and on the porch had kept him there, clutching the countertop like a lifeline. 

And Daryl? They’d all let him down so much that he felt like he had to leave, just to get some peace.    
  


Rick cursed under his breath and tried to grit his teeth, uncaring of the pain in his head. At this point, he knew he deserved it.  

It took quite awhile for his exhausted brain to fall asleep. 

****

He woke up a couple of times; once when Carl checked up on him, and once when Carol scared the bejesus out of him. 

Carl was as quiet as a ghost, staring down at RIck with eyes that were much too old for his teenaged face. He didn’t have Judith with him, and Rick had the impression that his son was about to say something, but had thought better of it, leaving before Rick could apologize.  It brought to mind back before all this happened- when he was checking on Carl before bed, knowing full well  Carl hd shut off the flashlight and closed the comic book under his covers mere seconds before Rick opened his bedroom door, holding his breath to see if Rick would say anything. 

Carol-   _ shit.  _

Not for the first time, Rick acknowledged that Carol was fucking terrifying. Whatever had happened to her after the prison, after Rick had exiled her had really left a mark on her. It left it physically, in the way she was almost a streamlined version of herself, emotionally, in the way that she only opened up to Rick, and Daryl (probably more Daryl than Rick, but he appreciated the sign of trust.) and it left its mark on her mentally, with how she had split people into ‘trust’ and ‘don’t trust’, ‘sheep’ or ‘slaughterer’. 

Her insistence that they had to up their game to take this place just didn’t sit well with him, and as Rick stood staring up at the ceiling, he knew that something was going to go wrong. It had to. There was no way to not have this blow up in his family’s face. 

He wasn’t willing to just give up either; he fully had every intention of going through with the hastily-thought out plan. If Deanna and her bunch were gonna insist on putting him and his family in danger (and no doubt about it; outside of Alexandria’s walls was tremendously dangerous.) then Rick wasn’t gonna just show his belly and let them have it. 

Talking to Jessie had been a mistake. She had wanted nothing to do with Rick, and Rick didn’t fault her for that, not really.  She was afraid. Afraid of her husband, afraid of the stigma for siding with the stranger who had caused all the trouble, afraid of being alone and having to stand up for herself. 

Rick winced. Even in his own head, that was harsh. 

He had to remember that these people were at just about his own post-coma level of confusion. Sure the Alexandrianites had survived this long (and  _ how _ was still a fuckin mystery.), and they had adapted. Not well, and not without mishaps, but they’d adapted. Hell, Rick remembered riding that horse into Atlanta, and knew that it was easy enough to fuck up when you didn’t have an inkling of what was coming. 

For Christ’s sake though, how had they made it  _ two years? _

There was a scritch on the door, and Rick turned to look at it, seeing Michonne stick her head in the door’s opening, darting in without meeting Rick’s eyes. 

Rick swallowed nervously, shamed at the fact that he’d done this to her, to his friend. He’d told such a fucking pointless lie- series of lies- that she couldn’t even look at him. 

Almost like his words would be some kind of penance, Rick started to speak. 

“Carol, Daryl, and me... we worked it out together. Carol took three guns from the armory. I still have one, she still has one. We lied to you because I wasn't sure how you'd take it, what you'd do.” Rick tried to ignore the squirming feeling in his gut at the inescapable realization that he  _ had  _ lied to Michonne. He’d treated her like she’d been nothing, like her opinions didn’t matter.

Rick remembered the two of them outside of the barn, and thought that she probably understood  _ why _ she’d been left out. The desperation to find something normal, something that would make sense for all of them had been strong. It had pulled at all of them, in a myriad of different ways. Michonne loved that she was given a job, and she’d done that job to the best of her ability. Shit, Rick just needed to touch the back of his head if he doubted that. 

But, even after the myriad of ways Rick had disappointed her, the fact that she was  _ here _ , checking up on him, checking in with him told Rick everything he needed to know about their friendship. 

And her loyalty.

Michonne’s jacket rustled. You think I'd try to stop you?”

“Well, you did hit me over the head,” Rick tried to grin, to make light of something he really didn’t blame her for, but the tension was too thick, and his joke went over like a lead balloon. 

Michonne’s eyes were still hurt, but flat with frustration. “That was for you, not them.” RIck was fairly certain that if he hadn’t already had a concussion, she’d have no qualms about slapping him upside the head. 

“I was afraid you'd talk me out of it. You could've.” 

Michonne sighed, and reached out to him, touching his arm with fingers calloused and hard from her katana. 

“I don't need my sword. I think you can find a way. We can find a way. And if we don't... I'm still with you.” 

RIck blinked, strangely overwhelmed by her words. 

“Something's gonna happen. Just don't make something happen.”  Michonne squeezed his wrist and turned and left, shutting the door behind her. 

Rick leaned his forehead against the glass of his makeshift recovery room cum jail cell and lightly smacked his head against the cool glass, feeling foolish. He closed his eyes, feeling nervous, and worried for what was about to happen. Michonne’s words were hard to ignore: _just_ _don’t make something happen._

It was like he was on the rails, standing and looking up at a mountain as the runaway train flew down towards, him, gaining speed, gaining velocity and Rick was powerless to stop any part of it, just a cog in the wheel of what had already been set in motion the first time he made cow eyes at Pete’s wife. 

Rick opened his eyes, eyes focusing on what was  _ wrong _ in his one glimpse of the community outside the glass of his windows.  

In a flash, he had grabbed his gunbelt, the gun, his machete and his coat, running out to confirm what he had glimpsed through the glass. 

_ What the fuck? _

The gate! 

Rick ran to the gate, looking up and not seeing Sasha or anyone else on watch from the tower, and  _ definitely  _ not seeing anyone on guard by the gate. 

There wasn't a guard on the gate. It was  _ open _ . 

Rick saw the viscous blood and bits of bone on the locking mechanism and whirled, looking for a threat. Every sense he had was on alert. He caught sight of the blood on the concrete and could feel his heart in his throat as he followed the trail in between two houses.  

Night had fallen by now, and Rick was thrown off by how dark it was, how alien everything looked. If one of the walkers was in their sanctuary, it  _ was _ alien. Dangerous.  Rick whirled, hearing a dog barking.  He was full enough that hearing a dog didn’t automatically trigger ‘food’, but it was a close thing.  The dog going apeshit could only mean one thing. 

Rick ran to the house behind and to the left of him, saw the dog locked inside, and turned when he heard the familiar groan and snarl of a mindless walker.  He attacked, shocked, feeling weirdly dizzy for a moment as his sight lurched. His concussion didn’t just go away because he needed to use his reflexes, and Rick struggled with the thin creature for longer than he would have, normally. Eventually, he managed to use the thing’s head as a silencer, shooting it and trying not to vomit when the decaying blood fountained into his face and eyes. Rick cursed, clawing at the weirdly tacky viscera before catching his breath. Fortunately there was only one.  Conceivably, there could be more that followed the one he’d just killed, and he’d have MIchonne take a group to check house-to-house just to be certain, but if more of them had come in they would have been drawn to the dog, or the sound of the muffled gunshot by now.

Shit. if those idiots were too focused on their  _ meeting _ to ignore simple security...

Furious, Rick slung the lifeless body over his shoulder. It was heavier than he expected, and his ribs weren’t too happy with his movement, but he managed to make it, moving towards the meeting area near the gazebo where he’d talked to Glenn and Maggie earlier. 

He flung the walker to the ground amidst gasps and cries of shock. 

“The gate. Was.  _ Open _ .”  Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Carol and Abraham’s shoulders snap to attention at the barely contained fury in his voice.

“I asked Gabriel to close it!” Spencer looked to his parents, sounding like a kid trying to avoid being grounded. 

“Go,” Deanna’s voice brooked no argument. 

Rick wiped at a stray trickle of the things blood, and pointed down at its rotting body. “ I didn't bring it in. It got inside on its own. They always will-- the dead and the living, because we're in here. And the ones out there... ...they'll hunt us. They'll find us. They'll try to use us. They'll try to kill us. But we'll kill them. We'll survive. I'll show you how.” Rick looked around at the shocked, scared faces that stared at him like he was the night’s entertainment. Rick supposed that in a way, he was.  “You know, I was thinking-- I was thinking how many of you do I have to kill to save your lives? But I'm not gonna do that. You're gonna change. I'm not sorry for what I said last night. I'm sorry for not saying it sooner. You're not ready, but you have to be. Right now, you have to be. Luck runs out.”  Rick wiped the rest of the blood off of his face. He’d said his peace, and from the understanding on their faces (or at least on Reg’s) Rick thought his message was getting through. 

He turned to look at Jessie, almost as though he couldn’t help himself.  Rick turned, realizing that she had noticed something else, hardly acknowledging Rick’s presence.  

“You're not one of us. You're not one of us!” Pete staggered forward, and Rick saw the glint of Michonne’s katana in the low light of the lanterns. He shifted, blocking Jessie and her older son with his body, but before Rick could do anything, Reg had moved, holding up two placating hands towards the burly doctor. 

“Pete, you don't want to do this,” Reg’s measured voice attempted for reason. 

“Get the hell away from me, Reg.” 

“Pete, just stop.”

“Get away from me. “ Pete shoved the older man, who staggered. Reg attempted again, and Pete swung the katana, slicing through Reg’s throat with hardly a hiccup. 

Deanna’s scream pierced the night. “No, no! Oh, no, no!” 

Rick was frozen in shock, realizing that Abraham had rushed him before Rick could even fully process what was happening. He belatedly realized that his hand was on the gun shoved into the front waistband of his jeans, and he was still standing in front of Jessie, Ron, and Maggie, like an idiot.

Pete screamed in Abraham’s chokehold- “This is him! Shut up! This is him!”

“Oh, God! Oh, my love.” Deanna’s voice broke. “My love, my love. No, my love, no.”  Rick blinked, horribly empathetic as he watched Reg choke out his last breath from the severed artery in his neck.  He watched Deanna’s sobbing, and heard her pleas of prayer and denial.  He had been where she was. It was only circumstance that had caused Rick not to watch his spouse die horribly, in pain and terrified. 

As through from a long way away, Rick heard Pete protesting, blaming Rick for what he’d done. Deanna’s sobs were strangely fragile, and Rick knew what was gonna happen as soon as she looked up with her face set in resolute lines of anger and heartbreak. 

“Rick... .. _.do it. _ ”

Rick did. 

The gunshot echoed through the night. 

Rick expected the sound of fear. He expected Abraham to dance out of the way of the spray of blood and brain matter that exited Pete’s head after Rick pulled the trigger.  He expected the disgusted sounds and the almost physical wave of shock and disapproval that emanated from the townspeople. 

He did  _ not _ expect to hear his name spoke with such dumfounded disbelief. 

“Rick?” 

*******

For a minute, Rick thought he was dreaming. 

_ He woke up, shocked and thirsty and in pain, realizing at once how loud the silence was. There was no drone of a tv, no huff and whirr of an air conditioning kicking on. Rick didn’t hear cars moving outside, or hear the faint buzz of a lawnmower in the late summer evening.  It took him a few minutes to focus on the ceiling, to swim up out of his dreams.   _

_ Fuck, he was thirsty.  _

_ Rick jumped when he felt the man’s hand on his naked shoulder, and jumped again when the man attached to it leaned forward, into his line of sight.  Bits of conversation, but one thing... the most impossible thing... that stuck out, like a radio that had suddenly found a station in an ocean of static.  _

_ “No... Not the ones they put down. The ones they didn't. The walkers. Like the one I shot today. 'Cause he'd have ripped into you, tried to eat you, taken some flesh at least. Well, I guess if this is the first you're hearing it, I know how it must sound...” _

Between the expression on Morgan Jones’ face staring at back at him in dumfounded shock (with Aaron and Daryl on either side of him)  the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears, Rick couldn’t quite parse out whether he was actually here, if he had actually killed someone or if this was all some sort of weird fever dream flashback.

Rick cut his gaze to Daryl’s, meeting the other man’s blue eyes with a pathetic sort of neediness. Rick almost felt guilty for shooting Pete, even though Deanna’s sobbing and the occasional cry or murmur of one of the Alexandrites would seem oddly loud in the weirdly muted sound inside his head. 

“Rick.” Michonne gently took the gun from Rick’s hands, and he jolted, startled at the way she just sort of materialized next to him. Michonne squeezed his hand, and Rick saw Daryl start to step forward.  

Deanna continued to rock and hold her husband, probably not even processing that she’d used Rick like a guard dog. He didn’t mind. He was glad she was thinking pragmatically. Pere needed to go. Not just for the fight, but he'd been dangerous... And stupid. Rick didn't know if Pete had sliced Reg on purpose, but he had for damn sure meant to slice into  _ someone _ . There’d been malice in his heart, or he wouldn’t have taken Michonne’s katana off the wall mount, and found his way here. 

Rick’s breath gasped a little when Daryl wrapped his large hand around Rick’s bicep. 

“What th’  _ fuck _ , Michonne?” 

Daryl didn’t often drawl anymore, but when he did it was usually a sign that he was so pissed off that he was having trouble hiding it. Rick felt strangely numb. He knew something was coming, but wasn’t entirely sure what, like the black lines of a sketch waiting for the bold, bright colors to bring his canvas to life.

“Just... I’ll finish up here. You take him. Go.” 

Rick stumbled after Daryl, still in the weird fugue state. He vaguely saw Aaron and Morgan staring after the two of them, but all of his focus was on the too-tight, too-warm grip of Daryl’s hand on his bicep, felt even through the thick material of his jacket. 

Rick felt himself shiver slightly, and realized that his heart was beating, thudding in his chest like a mallet on a drum.  “Daryl...? What?” was all he could manage before Daryl hustled him down the street, eschewing their house and taking him to what Rick only very belatedly realized was the house that Abraham and the rest shared, the one where Daryl had showered. 

“Can’t take you home while you’re like this; Carl...”

Rick didn’t understand until Daryl turned on the bathroom light and Rick winced away from his own reflection. 

His mouth dropped open a little.  If he hadn’t been standing in the middle of a bright well-designed bathroom, Rick would think that he and Daryl were huddled on the side of the road after he had ripped out Joe’s throat with his teeth and gutted the fat pig who had tried to rape his boy. 

He was covered in blood, his hair matted with it. Rick didn’t have the beard that he’d had back then, and there were what was a frankly ridiculous number of bandages on his face, but otherwise there was no change. He was even wearing the same jacket. 

Daryl was strangely silent as he started to clean him up, and Rick was equally as quiet as he let Daryl dab at his face with a washcloth.  Rick watched him work in the mirror, still clinging to the remnants of the numbness. He felt fairly cowardly as he just passively stood there, watching Daryl’s grime-covered hands dab gently at his head. 

Rick hissed and jerked away so sharply that he lost his balance, folding over the sink awkwardly with Daryl’s shocked face behind him. 

“What the fuck, man? You’ve got a lump there the size of Little A’s fist! Probably a damn concussion, too.” 

Rick was pretty sure his bell had been rung again when he fought with the walker earlier, and that certainly explained why he felt like he was a passenger on a trip on which he hadn’t been invited along on, but he wasn’t going to mention that to Daryl. Not while he was in this strange mood- angry and grufly caring.  Rick found to his shame that he was soaking it up like a sponge. 

“Fought with Pete. He was beating the shit out of...” 

“HIs wife. Yeah, Carol said, before I left.” Daryl sucked his teeth, frowning down at the mess in the sink.  “Strip, Rick. You need a shower, and you need to sleep. You look like one of the damn dead ones.”

Rick shut his eyes and nodded, stripping to his underwear as Daryl pushed him into the shower and hosed him down, taking exquisite care with his still sluggishly bleeding head- a fact that Daryl cursed darkly over. Rick found that he was still skipping time, remembering the tears in Morgan’s eyes when he spoke about not being able to put his wife down, and a later flash of him damn near insane after he’d lost his boy. He remembered listening to Carl sobbing inside of the truck, too terrified of what his own father had done to seek comfort with him- turning instead to the steady influence of Michonne. 

He remembered kissing Daryl in the rain. 

“Come on, Rick.” 

Daryl tugged on his shoulder, and Rick moved with it, pressing his face into the crook of Daryl’s neck. He heard Daryl suck in a shocked breath, and just rested there, soaking wet and shivering slightly.  Rick breathed Daryl in, sweat and gasoline and the faint odor of blood that they all smelled of so often that they’d stopped noticing it. 

“I think I fucked this up,” Rick whispered, knowing that Daryl wouldn’t judge him for hiding like this. 

“Naw. Nothin’s fucked up Rick... not yet. We can figure it out.” Daryl’s voice was a soft rumble as his hand came up to gently cup the back of Rick’s neck. “Now come on. Now that you’re not covered with walker guts, I can clean up your face again, maybe tone down the bandaids to something like a mere thirty or something. You can go kiss your kids, and go lay down in the bed, and in the morning Michonne’ll make some of that egg stuff you love so much, and we’ll figure all this shit out.”

Rick’s exhale was shaky, but Daryl didn’t point it out. He waited until Rick straightened before turning away for a towel, briskly rubbing Rick down, and pretty much forcing him into a pair of Glenn’s sweatpants. 

Rick could hear the muted voices of his people in question and at one point Carl’s concerned, “Dad?” but most of his focus and attention was just where Daryl led him, pushing his exhausted and overwhelmed body into his bed and pulling up the sheets like he was tucking him in for the night. 

At one point, he thought he felt the soft brush of lips on his forehead, the calloused caress of fingers on his cheek, but Rick knew he was just dreaming again. 

It was nice, though. That dream. 

  
Rick smiled and curled into his blankets, finally able to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I'm still alive. Thank you for sticking with me. These chapters are long on purpose, but that makes for a long-ass time in between posts. We're almost at the halfway point. Negan _was_ my 'halfway' but I might tweak that. I tried to get this out before the show airs again, and as you noticed _that_ didn't quite happen, so after-Negan (depending on if they do what I think they will) this story might go very much into AU-ville. I'm going to try not to- I'm getting a kick out of keeping to the 'script' as it were, but we'll see. I've lost some of my faith in the writers after that fuckdoodle of a finale. 
> 
> ~lost


	18. So Lonesome.... I Could Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hello! I'm still alive. :D Mind the tags for this one, folks, and don't hate me too much, eh?. :) 
> 
> All the thanks to **Foxy K** for her willingness to beta this monster. Any mistakes are mine because I am a relentless fiddler.
> 
> * * *
> 
> A/N: I have moved one rather significant event up in the timeline, but the rest is pretty much flush with the beginning of season 6. Also, I attempted to merge some of the landscapes we see in the show with the actual city of Alexandria. If you live near there, sorry for butchering your city. :)

 

### Chapter 9: So Lonesome.... I Could Cry

 

****

Daryl clomped down the stairs in his boots, still a little pissed off. It just didn’t make sense- what the actual fuck had happened since he’d been on his run with Aaron?

Noah, dead? Reg, dead? The doctor, _dead_?

He wasn’t surprised to see that his people were crammed into the living room, Glenn, Eugene, Tara, Abraham and Rosita were the only ones missing.  Surprisingly enough, Morgan, Aaron and Eric were there, Morgan and Aaron eating cereal from a bowl and looking like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Michonne looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. “He okay?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. What the hell happened? I left for a coupla damn days; left him as the fuckin’ law ‘round these parts, and come back to him damn near catatonic, exhausted and _concussed._ ”

Michonne flinched.

“Daryl? Is my dad okay?”

Aw, _shit_. Daryl couldn’t be pissed with Carl looking at him like that. “Yeah, kid. He’ll be fine.” Daryl made a probably visible effort to calm his shit down. He breathed slowly, once. Twice.

Daryl had been floored when Rick had leaned on him, almost like he’d looked for Daryl to... to hold him or something. Daryl had been so shocked at the suddenness of Rick’s body against his, especially after what had occurred the last time they’d been in this same bathroom, and had only managed a fumbling hand cradling Rick’s head, careful not to press against the bump on his skull before Rick had pulled away.

The feeling of having Rick’s blind trust, of making sure he got to bed okay and _maybe_ kissing Rick’s forehead for a stolen second lingered. The protective feeling only grew stronger when Daryl remembered the almost numb way Rick had acted after killing Pete. Oh it had been easy enough to paste together the _why_. He’d seen the blonde with her big, sad, tear-filled eyes look at Rick like he’d just.... Well. Murdered her husband. In front of her and her two kids.  Daryl had a split-second to see the look on the older kid’s face, and he made a mental note to tell Rick when he was... better.

He sighed, pinching the top of his nose, where a bitch of a headache was forming.

“Okay so, did you guys--”

The door opened and Abraham walked in. Daryl didn’t miss the way that Sasha eyed him, because it was pretty obvious that the man was drunk.  “I made sure Reg wouldn’t come back.” He mimed stabbing someone in the head and walked over to one of the couches and sat down, hard enough that the heavy piece of furniture slid back an inch or so and clunked against the wall, sending Carol jolting to keep her balance. She gave him a look, and Abraham’s cheeks turned faintly pink.

“I made sure Pete was covered too, but Deanna was makin’ noises about him not being buried with the rest of ‘em.” Abraham sighed and scooted the couch back where it belonged under Carol’s quelling look. “That’s gonna be a shit sucker for sure.”

Michonne met his gaze and Daryl nodded a little, understanding immediately that she wanted to talk to him without the others present. Carol would have noticed if she hadn’t been still looking hard at Abraham, and Daryl was pretty sure Aaron caught the brief moment, but he was willing enough to be distracted by Eric, who was clearly not letting him out of his sight.

Daryl could relate.

Carol got up and walked to the kitchen, wetting a cloth and holding it out to Abraham. He sighed, but took it, cleaning up the blood on his face.

“So, ideas?”

“Deanna’s gonna be...” Sasha stopped.

“Look. I don’t want to cover anything that Rick needs to hear. We can reconvene in the morning, discuss everything when he’s awake, okay? Yeah, there’s gonna be repercussions. But... we can handle it. We can handle anything.”

Michonne’s soft voice had a note of finality to it, and everyone quickly dispersed for their own places. After a whispered conversation, Aaron and Eric... and weirdly, Carol, insisted that Morgan be kept away from the populace until Deanna or Rick could give him the okay for being here. It didn’t sit right with Daryl given how Morgan had saved their asses, but Morgan seemed to take it in stride. He did snag a candle, and help himself to a roll of toilet paper and a rather lurid-looking novel. The man on the cover was obviously a pirate, and the woman was about two waves away from a serious wardrobe malfunction, but Daryl figured that there were worse ways to pass the time.

Besides, the sequel was better.

Morgan disappeared with Michonne, Aaron, Eric and Abraham. Daryl latched the door behind them and turned to face the music.

“You’re back.” Carol stood and walked over to him, tilting back his chin and taking in every bruise and scrape on his body.  She tilted her head, staring at him and Daryl had the uncomfortable feeling that she somehow knew exactly what had happened while he and Aaron had been out. “You look like shit. Do I need to hose you down again?”

Daryl sighed. “Naw. ‘M fine. Just tired.”

Carol stared at him for a moment, and the weight of their friendship weighed on Daryl; knowing what had changed and what was going to change was even more exhausting. He didn’t often look at his friends as though they had huge countdowns ticking down above their head, but seeing Rick so.... Like _that_ had thrown Daryl for more of a loop than he expected.  Truth be told, it reminded him more of the Rick after Lori died than anything else.

He made a mental note to ask the quiet chick, Debbie or Denise or whatever it was, about PTSD.  Daryl knew what that shellshocked look meant- maybe too well. He’s only met her the once, but figured she’d be be stepping up now that Rick blew the head off of Alexandria’s current doctor.

Carol stood up on tiptoe and kissed Daryl on the nose. She made the kiss wet on purpose, and Daryl rocked back, completely grossed out.  She laughed, and Daryl whapped her on the shoulder, and turned to go upstairs. He knew there was shit to take care of, but some of that was gonna have to sort itself out without him overseeing it.

Daryl washed off the sweat and the grime of the day with a quick shower, and stepped out of his bathroom, surprised to see Aaron standing there, holding his hat and looking a little nervous.

Daryl raised his eyebrow.

Aaron flushed, and his lips twitched as he thought about what to say. “Look, I. I don’t know if I want Eric to find out about what happened out there- about how close of a call we had.”

Daryl nodded, then took off his towel to wipe at his hair. Aaron made a shocked sound in the back of his throat and Daryl looked up at him again, confused. Aaron looked a little flushed, and wouldn't meet his gaze.

Daryl’s brow furrowed.

“Sorry! Oh hell, _sorry._ I don't mean to be awkward. It’s just been a really. Uh.”

Daryl looked at the way Aaron looked up, then down, then watched as the other man gestured at Daryl’s body. Finally, he figured it out.

Aaron was acting that way because Daryl was naked.

It had been so long since Daryl had been body shy that he hadn’t really thought about it before walking around naked in front of a... _oh_.

He shrugged. “Come on now. No reason to be nervous. I ain’t about to jump you.” Daryl looked down at himself. “‘Sides, not much to see anyway.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, even though his cheeks were still a little red. “No, I know you’re not going to jump _me._ I think you forget... I saw who you really wanted, remember?”

Daryl huffed a breath and pulled his khakis up over his underwear, making a mental note to use Sasha’s screwdriver to add another hole to his belt so that the fuckin things didn’t slide right off. “You don’t gotta keep mentioning that, you know? I told ya. It’s not nothin’.” He tossed the towel in Aaron’s direction, embarrassed.

Aaron made a disgusted sound and hung up the towel on the drying rack. “Hm.” Aaron’s little sound might have said ‘okay’ but his body language fairly screamed ‘I call bullshit on your bullshit, asshole.’

But maybe that was just Daryl reading too much into it.  He yawned, all of the sudden exhausted by the events of the past few days. “Right. Well, I think I’m gonna hit it, man. Need some shut eye before I try to help Rick untangle the shitstorm he just caused.”

Aaron shook his head. “Pete. I can’t believe it. I just spoke to him a few days ago.”

Daryl raised his arms above his head and stretched, smirking a little at noticing that Aaron was avoiding looking at him, like he was avoiding looking at the goddamn sun or something. He didn’t have much to say. Carol hadn’t liked Pete, and her instincts were better than most when it came to that sort of shit. Best not say shitty stuff about the dead and all.  

“Hey, if you are up to it- you should come by later for dinner.” Aaron smiled. “I promise it won’t be spaghetti. But, Eric wants you to feel welcome. I do too.”  Daryl yawned and nodded, saw Aaron raise his hand in farewell, and the man shut the door, footsteps going slowly down the stairs.

Daryl fell back onto the mattress, groaning a little at the welcoming comfort.

Aaron meant well, but Daryl had to shut that down. Was no point in Aaron belaboring what he had thought he saw in the rain. It had only been a little over a week, and Daryl felt like it had happened to someone else.

Daryl yawned again so hard that his jaw cracked. He heard the pipes running as someone else took a shower. The night bugs outside made just enough background noise that Daryl felt himself starting to relax.

He didn’t remember closing his eyes.

*****

The sun was warm on Daryl’s shoulders as he tried to fix the exhaust on his bike. Just a few little things here and there- nothing to terrible that would keep it from running smoothly, but it gave him something to do.

He hadn’t been up to dealing with Carl. The teenager had looked at him with big eyes, obviously sorry for what he’d said about Beth before Daryl had left, but Carol’s running chatter about the day-to-day goings on of Alexandria had kept everyone distracted. Daryl had bolted his granola bar and gone outside, hoping that everyone would get the message to leave him the fuck alone for awhile.

Daryl could feel the walls of Alexandria pressing down on him again, and the feeling was uncomfortable enough that he found himself looking for excuses to stay outside. He had walked down to Aaron’s house for some parts (he wanted to check the oil, maybe see if he could find why the engine was hesitating) and had been back for about twenty minutes when he heard the screen door open and the familiar sound of Rick’s boots on the wood of the porch.

“Good call in separating Morgan. I still can’t half-believe that he’s actually here. The last time I saw him...” Rick trailed off, and for a second Daryl wondered if Rick had been talking to him for very long before Daryl clued into the fact that he’d somehow missed part of the conversation.

“So, is he okay with it?” Daryl felt like a herd of butterflies attacked his stomach at the same time. Fuckin’ _ridiculous_. Here he was a grown man, and he was acting like the unpopular chick in a movie when the football quarterback finally notices her. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much Rick had needed him last night- how broken, and lost Rick had seemed.

No  trace of that now. Now, he was business as usual, as though he was trying to act like he hadn’t just beat the shit out of someone _and_ killed them a few hours later. Oh yeah. Eric had just about exploded with the need to tell him the news once he realized that Daryl didn’t know all the details of what had happened.

Rick crossed in front of the bike and stood looking down at Daryl. Daryl chanced a quick glance up through his bangs. Rick’s gaze seemed clear. Normal. “It was pretty much his idea. He gets it.”

Daryl frowned, unhappy with treating Moran that way after he’d saved their asses. It's got a bed and a bath, but it's still a cage, you know?” Daryl looked up at Rick and winced to see all the bandages still on his face. The skin around his nose and eyes was still bruised, and his lower lip look like it had been split open.

“He gets it.He told me what happened out there with the trucks.” Rick reached out as though he was going to touch Daryl’s shoulder, and Daryl froze for just a second, hyper-aware of the fingers on Rick’s hand.

He stood up and wiped his hands on his khakis, walking around so that he could speak to Rick face to face.

“He tell you about those guys he met?” Daryl touched his forehead.  “The Ws?”

“Like that walker we saw, yeah.  We need more watch points.  And I'm gonna tell Deanna we don't need to go looking for people anymore.”  

The words might as well have been shouted. Daryl felt strangled for a second, nervous and jumpy and all-too aware of the closed gates and high walls of the community. He chewed nervously at a hangnail, pacing around a little bit- needing some space from Rick.

Rick paused for a second before asking, “You feel different about it?”

Daryl turned to look back at him. For a second, Rick looked straight at him, his blue gaze boring into Daryl’s with such intensity that Daryl had to blink, stymied. It was like he was asking something else. Waiting for Daryl to give up some secret or something, like he was interrogating a suspect.

It pissed him off.

“Yeah. I do.” Daryl knew his words were a challenge. He didn’t care. Rick couldn’t be serious- couldn’t want to keep Daryl _here_ . Hell, even Rick’s _kid_ knew that Daryl didn’t belong here. It was like keeping an ant under a magnifying glass.  

The tone of Rick’s voice changed just enough that it made the hairs on the back of Daryl’s neck stand on end.

“Well, people out there, they got to take care of themselves, just like us.” Rick paused, as though waiting for Daryl to respond. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say- not to that. Not anything that would be even the slightest bit helpful. “I'm gonna get him out. Shouldn't leave him in there any longer than we have to.”

Daryl jerked one shoulder in acknowledgement and bent to pick up his tools. He tried not to notice that Rick was limping as he walked off, and cursed himself for giving a shit.

“Hey!” Rick turned back to look back over his shoulder at Daryl. Daryl froze for a second, his heart thundering in his chest for a moment, before he saw that Rick was sort of smiling as he reached up and itched at one of the bandages on his face. “You need to come by later. We got some... stuff to fill ya in on.” Rick’s gaze darted down to the ground, skittering away from Daryl’s own like a rat running from the light.

Daryl, still a little surprised by the sudden shout- none of them ever shouted anymore; not outside of the walls. Not unless you were in trouble and needed assistance- nodded and listened as Rick walked off.

He blinked, staring at Rick as he walked away.

“Trouble in paradise?”  Carol’s voice was the sugary sweet timbre of the weird Stepford wife thing she had going on here.

“How long you been listening?” Daryl knew he sounded downright grumpy and didn’t really care all that much.

“Aw, Pookie. You ask such silly questions. Now come on. I need to go grocery shopping, and you can help me carry the stuff.”

Daryl winced.

Carol obviously took pity on him because she smirked a little- the private, you-know-my-secrets-and-I-know-yours smirk that only the two of them shared. She grabbed his arm and linked it through her own. “Now come on. Don’t make that face. I’ll tell you what. You can just brood over all your boy troubles while I catch you up on the clusterfuck that Rick caused while you were away. I tried to catch you last night but you were dead to the world.”

Daryl leaned over and cleaned up his mess, knowing he was being chivvied along and not caring... too much. He was just confused enough by all his “boy troubles” to let her.

“Grocery shopping, huh?”

“You should see their setup.”

Daryl sighed and waited while Carol went inside to get Judith.  He ran his hand over the leather on the seat of the bike, frowning as he went back over his and Rick’s conversation in his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Carl standing in between the two townhouses, shifting his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other. He ignored Carl’s obvious desire to talk to him.

Daryl had had just about enough of the Grimeses.

The screen door banged and Carol came out with Judith on her hip.  Judith was dressed in a bright pink pair of coveralls, and someone had written ‘Asskicker’ on the bib in front in black Sharpie. Judith  babbled seriously, tugging on Carol’s earlobe and pointing to the soft, white clouds that floated above their heads.  She had on little brown socks made into bunnies, complete with ears, and pink noses.

When Judith caught sight of him, she squealed and held out her arms demandingly, and Daryl manfully ignored the little squirm his stomach gave when Carol held her out for him to take. Judith smacked his neck enthusiastically, and leaned in to give her baby-version of a kiss. She smelled like oranges and baby powder, and Daryl just breathed in her sweet scent

Okay- maybe _that_ Grimes could stay.

Carol, no dummy, grinned beatifically at Daryl and hitched her bag up over her shoulder.  Daryl saw Carl turn back towards the gazebo but Carl didn’t say anything, so Daryl didn’t either.  Carol’s wide, clear gaze missed nothing- flicking to Carl and back to Daryl, and he saw her eyes narrow a little in thought as they walked towards the common area.

Carol didn’t bother knocking, opening the door and poking her head with a hollered “halooo!”

The pantry area was huge. Especially given what they had done from Georgia to get here, how they’d very nearly starved to death, it seemed surreal that there would be so many supplies all stored in one place.

“Hi there!”  The woman from before who had taken their guns chirped with a grin.  She seemed unfazed by both Daryl and Carol’s blank stares. “Olivia.” The woman’s grin faltered a little when Carol began oozing the charm.

Daryl turned her out.

The weapons were a fairly decent stockpile- he saw several rifles and handguns, mostly the same sort of military and cop-grade weapons that all of the rest of them had.

Well, except Rick. He treated that Python nicer than most men treated their women.

Next to the guns were what looked like ammo, stockpiled haphazardly next to some of the canned goods. He could see what looked like bedsheets and clothes jumbled in with dried milk and what looked like fresh carrots.

_“Daryl!”_

_Daryl fumbled with the tiny jar and tried not to notice how absolutely filthy his hands were. Beth laughed outright at him, pointing with one imperious finger towards the washing station Hershel had set up in the back._

_Daryl glared at her for good measure, but it was obvious she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep her laughs from getting too loud, echoing inside the cell block.  He washed the bright orange goo off his fingers, not entirely sure how Judith had managed to get it on the inside of his elbow._

_“I told you. She don’t like carrots.”_

_Daryl scrubbed harder, frowning down at his hands. It wasn’t like he fuckin’ knew any of this shit. He wasn’t anyone’s daddy. And unfortunately, this one’s dad was... otherwise occupied._

_“Hey._ Hey.” _Beth reached out to touch his arm. “You did a good thing finding that for her. She might not like ‘em, but she’ll learn to, Daryl.”  Beth smiled at him, her young face painfully earnest with the need to not offend._

_Daryl forced a smile and flicked the water from his hands at her. “Ain’t nothin’. Glad she has something to eat’s all.”_

_Beth squeaked and grabbed a rag to go begin cleaning up the baby.  Daryl stared doubtfully at the small piece of cloth, fairly certain that even a pressure washer wouldn’t get Little A or the high chair they’d scrounged for her clean of the mushed up carrots._

_“Rick’s probably about done with the seeding. You should go check on him.”  Beth smirked a little._

_Daryl ignored the placating lilt to her voice and_ definitely _ignored the fact that he moved a little more quickly outside of the prison and over to the farming area they’d set up._

_Rick wasn’t all the way better, but Hershel’s plan to keep him busy and occupied had been pretty successful. Rick started giving a shit again. He took an interest in his surroundings, and in his kids. Daryl didn’t think it was his place to interfere too much. Glenn pretty much took care of the major supply runs, and Daryl just tried to be here, to do what he could for Carl and Jud--”_

“Hey.” Carol’s fingers slid against his shoulder softly enough that Daryl didn’t react poorly. She’d long ago mastered the skill of getting someone’s attention in the most non-threatening manner possible.

His mom had had that skill, too.

Even still, Daryl started slightly, staring from the carrots to Olivia’s slightly nervous, awkward face, to Carol’s concerned gaze. He blinked and swallowed hard, swimming out of the memory with difficulty.

For a second, he could still hear Bethie’s laugh, ghosting on the air.

“I’ll. I’ll talk to ya later.” Daryl thrust Judith towards Carol, who took her automatically. He backed away in some confusion, whirling and walking a little more quickly than normal back towards his bike and away from the unsettling memories.

“Hey man.”

Daryl jumped, hand unsheathing his knife before he could stop himself. Glenn jumped back with his hands up, windmilling them a little for balance.  

“ _Shit!_ Shit!! Sorry...” Daryl ducked around Glenn, completely flustered and ran up the porch steps, slamming the door behind him. His hands were shaking. He could have... He almost...

Glenn of course completely ignored the slammed door and chased after him, barging right into his space and giving Daryl the one up, one down with his ‘no more bullshit today, thanks’ face as clear as always. Without speaking, he went to the kitchen, pouring Daryl a small splash of something alcoholic and bringing it over.

“Man, what the hell? Drink that, okay?”

Daryl drank, wincing when the shot of whiskey burned through his throat and esophagus, down into his belly. He coughed and gasped but set the glass down.  “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah I guess so. It’s been a rough few days for people trying to do me in. But, I have some really awesome news, and Maggie told me not to tell anyone, but you look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something so you’re gonna take another shot, Daryl Dixon and listen to my damn news.”

Glenn poured, and Daryl threw back the shot before gesturing so that Glenn would tell him his damn news already.

Glenn eyed him, watching to make sure the alcohol went down more smoothly.  He politely waited until Daryl finished, before punching him on the shoulder. Being that Daryl had almost just brained him for coming up behind him unexpectedly, he gave the smaller man that one, and waited.

Truth be told, his stomach felt a little woozy. Fuck knew how long it had been since he’d even tasted alcohol, let alone had two shots back to back like that.

“So what’s your news? You look like you’re about to piss yourself.”  Glenn did. They all got used to sweat of course, but now that Daryl really looked, it appeared as though Glenn had run through a rainstorm.

“I am. No! Not going to piss myself, I mean, but holy shit I don’t know what the hell to do. What do I know about this? I can’t even manage Judith she sees through me and just fucking _knows_ , man. Saves up the nasty diapers and oh god. Oh _god._ I need-”

Daryl reached out and covered Glenn’s mouth with the palm of his hand. Glenn actually continued to babble for a few minutes before his brain worked out what was happening.

“You sound like _you’re_ the one who needs a drink. Take a deep breath. Imma remove my hand and you’re gonna tell me in five words or less what the hell is wrong.” Slowly, not sure if the dude was gonna have a seizure or something, Darryl removed his hand.

“I’m gonna be somebody’s _dad_!”

Daryl blinked, shocked. Not that Glenn had finally knocked Maggie up- _those_ two had been not-so-secretly going at it as long as he’d known ‘em- but that Glenn looked absolutely like he was going to have a heart attack, shit himself, and then jump off one of the scaffolding towers in terror... all at the same time.  

With Daryl’s other hand, Daryl reached out and poured a hefty shot into the shot glass, and pressed it into Glenn’s shaking fingers.  

Glenn downed it, gasping, then looked at Daryl’s smirk and started laughing.

Daryl pulled away a little and awkwardly clapped Glenn on the shoulder, his smile softening. “Don’t think you’ve got much to worry about. Not with the way you take care of all of us.”

Glenn’s cheeks turned a little pink and he turned to put away the alcohol and walk to the sink, to rinse out their glasses, a move that still seemed weird given everything they’d been through in the past few years.  

Hell, the fact that he was dodging around a kitchen island was surreal enough.

Glenn shut off of  the faucet and dried his hands, before darting a quick glance around the lower floor of the house.  “So uh. Who’s here? Right now I mean.”

Daryl frowned, not entirely sure. Rick wasn’t, and neither was Michonne. Carol was still at the pantry.  Daryl glanced at the baby monitor and saw that it was off. The kids weren’t even home.

“Why?”

“Well, there’s some stuff I need to fill you in on. Happened while you were gone.”

Daryl nodded. “You told Rick yet?”

Glenn nodded, frowning, then wincing when the movement pulled at a sore on the corner of his mouth.  Daryl gestured to it and sat down on the couch, raising his eyebrow in question.

“Oh. _Long_ story.” Glenn scoffed and sat down on the chair across from the bookshelf.  He began to fill Daryl in and Daryl couldn’t help but freeze in place, listening with almost disbelief. He hadn’t seen Noah since they all came in, but it hadn’t even thought that the kid could be gone.

Glenn’s eyes were wet when he nodded, avoiding Daryl’s gaze. However he died, Daryl knew it had to be bad. It was easier not to ask, really. Daryl couldn’t say that he had particularly known the kid very well,  but all at once the memory of a teary-eyed Noah slashing the tires of the Ambulance back in Atlanta came to him and he had to swallow hard.

“Shit.”

Glenn nodded. “Yeah. And then when I get back, that... _asshole_ , Nicholas fucking _shot me._ \--” Glenn’s eyes narrowed and Daryl sat back on the couch, settling in for a good story. Glenn talked for quite awhile. At one point Carol came home and unloaded the groceries, obviously listening in, but just as obviously not wanting to be directly involved.

Daryl didn’t say anything, but he thought that  Carol was acting a little weird. He made a mental note to check what on earth was up with her- she’d been acting weird with the multiple personality thing she had going on since they’d been interviewed by Deanna- acting one way for them, and one way for her family- stealing guns and breaking into the supply pantry...

Guiltily, Daryl realized that he’d been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn’t really stopped to think about what was going on with Carol; not since they’d had that night together in Atlanta. Shit- that had been what, three weeks ago, now? Four? It was hard to know exactly with the trek here after Terminus, but Daryl knew that Maggie had it marked somewhere. He knew that whatever had happened to Mika and Lizzie had hurt her deeply. Carol had almost shut down completely after Tyreese had been killed, and if anything had only focused on Daryl and Judith during the punishing walk from where they’d been  in Georgia until Aaron had found them. And even then, it had been fuzzily, as though she felt more like she had to than because she particularly wanted to.

“Hey.”

  
Daryl actually jumped in place, his hand fumbling for his knife in reaction. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that Glenn had stopped talking and Rick had come home. Daryl tried to calm his racing heart. He’d reacted that way at least three times just since he’d been back. Maybe what had happened to him and Aaron in the warehouse had more of an effect on him than he’d first thought. Daryl knew that had to have been sitting here for at least an hour, going by the way that Carol had made dinner while he and Glenn had talked.

“Sorry, man. Just wanted to let you know that we’re having a family meeting in the infirmary so Tara can weigh in. Carol’s bringing dinner over there. Me ‘n’ Morgan has got some stuff to fill y’all in on.”

Daryl chose not to examine too closely how Rick’s words of ‘me n’ Morgan’ made him feel. He ignored the sharp pain in his gut and nodded, standing up to help Carol pack a picnic basket with their dinner and some plates and shit.  The feeling remained though.

_Not too long ago, it woulda been ‘me n’ Daryl’s got’._

Rick grabbed Judith from Carl, kissing her sweet-smelling, sleepy forehead. They made a weird sort of parade as the six of them, Rick, Judith, Carl, Daryl, Morgan and Carol all walked to next street over.

Morgan nervously ran his gloved fingers over his bō, darting an undecipherable look back over his shoulder at Daryl once before following Rick to the Infirmary.  

Daryl was surprised to see Eugene and Abraham in the same room, with an exasperated-looking Rosita looking from both of them to Tara as they all clomped in. The epic beatdown Eugene had suffered at Abraham’s fists hadn’t quite finished healing. While the two of them had some shit to work out- the fact that they were both in the room spoke volumes.  Sasha slipped in behind them, and sat in the corner, willing enough to listen, but obviously not giving too much of a shit about what Rick had to say. Still, she was there, which Daryl supposed was saying something.

“Tuna casserole,” Carol sang out, holding up the pyrex dish with a huge grin.  Everyone made appreciative noises. Even Daryl, who before all this walker and end of the world fuckery would rather have eaten dogshit than a can of tuna. The doctor left the room, stammering something that Daryl didn’t bother trying to decipher, and Rick locked the door behind her as they all got settled.

“No one else is here, Rick, “ Maggie reported, coming down the stairs.  Michonne followed her, munching on an apple.

They quickly divvied up the food, making space around Tara’s bed (and in Eugene’s case, _in_ Tara’s bed after she made him park his ass near her hip). It was strangely domestic, and Daryl found himself looking around at his people, all at once pathetically grateful that they were all there and relatively unharmed.  

“Alright. We needed a family meeting and I didn’t much fancy wheeling Tara down them stairs.” Rick smiled faintly as he gave Judith a tiny bite of his cassarole. She liked it well enough, if by the way she immediately took the bite out of her mouth, gravely inspected its contents, squeezed it through her fingers, and popped part of it back into her mouth was any indication.

“First off- Daryl. Why don’t you fill us in on what happened with you and Aaron?”

Daryl looked at Rick, shocked by the expression on his face. Rick looked almost... angry.

Daryl shrugged. “Wasn’t as eventful a few days as y’all had.” Someone snorted, and Daryl wasn’t sure if it was Carl or Abraham. He didn’t look to check. “Found a trap. Found more signs of those dead’uns with the ‘W’ on their foreheads. Weird shit. Got caught up in a situation, and Aaron was...” Daryl trailed off for a second, searching for words. “Aaron was pretty smart. Wasn’t none of us’ fault- just shitty timing. Fell for a trap and Morgan there got us out of it.” Daryl jerked his chin in Morgan’s direction, who continued to stare down at his plate, eating around the tuna.

“Huhn.” Rick grunted, cocking his head a little to the left, like he was testing for bullshit.

“I like him, man. Aaron.” Daryl wasn’t too sure about Morgan yet, despite the fact that he’d known Rick from before. “Think we can trust him. He didn’t pussy out on me, and I was thinking out of everyone here, he’s the least useless. At least he’s been out there. Knows how to take care of himself.”

“Shit, man. You two getting married? I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say about someone since I met ya.”  Abraham laughed a little nastily, ignoring it when Rosita smacked him on the back of the head.

Daryl shrugged, trying not to focus on the faint flush to his cheeks.  Aaron wasn’t completely useless, and he hadn’t let Daryl down when he needed him. He didn’t see no point in acting otherwise.

“Okay. Glenn?”

Glenn sucked his teeth, reaching unconsciously for Maggie’s hand. “You guys know what happened... what happened with Noah. We came back, and Nicholas...” Glenn blew out a breath. “Just watch out for him is all. He’s unstable. Threatened.”

“I am not sorry that I knocked his sorry carcass out.” From Eugene, it was almost a shock. Any one of the rest of them, sure. They were comfortable enough with violence that they’d hardly need to refer to it. Eugene reached over and patted Tara’s arm, who still looked a little overwhelmed by everything that had happened since she was knocked out.

“Right. Anyone else?”

No one had anything else to share, and Rick sighed as though he needed the time to gather his own thoughts.

“Y’all know what happened here. What I did.” He looked around the room, making eye contact. With his newly-shaved face, Rick’s eyes were even more striking and shocking as he met Daryl’s gaze.

“Well, that’s gonna have repercussions. Maggie, you’re gonna have to stick to Deanna. She’s not going to want to listen. Was pretty pissed about burying Pete near Reg in the town graveyard, truth be told. But you need her to trust you, so keep working that.” He broke off, looking helplessly at Morgan.

“We know why this place has stayed so clean.” Morgan spoke clearly, looking at Judith eat with a small smile on his face.  

Rick nodded. “Pure, dumb luck. There’s a quarry a few miles back. Someone had tried to block it in, but their blockade failed. There has to be... thousands of walkers caught in there.”

“Spencer said that this area had been clean for years. That before everything happened, they’d made a concerted effort to evacuate this area; which meant less people.” Sasha’s voice was so quiet that they almost had to strain to hear her over Judith’s excited babble at finding a pea in the mush that was her portion of the casserole. Daryl saw that Abraham stared hard at her, obviously thinking about something that he didn’t feel like sharing with the rest of them.

“That’s probably true being that it’s so close to DC. Still, whatever walkers were left, or ones that herded up later are caught there.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Carl pushed back the hat on his head and stared at his dad patiently, as though he trusted that Rick would always have all the answers.

Rick pointed to Carl, nodding. “Exactly. And that’s going to be... it’s going to be a challenge, but I think I know a way to make it work. It’s going to take all of us, and it’s not gonna be easy, but I know you guys. I trust everyone here, and... and even though things got a little out of hand--”

“I hope you’re not planning on provocatin’ further.”  Eugene sounded downright testy, and the fact that he was even speaking back to Rick caused more than Daryl’s eyebrows to wing up in surprise. “ _You_ are the reason that most of us are here, Rick. At the least, you’re the reason that we’ve stayed. And forgive me for the blatant fanboyism, but if we didn’t trust you, then we coulda gone off on our merry way.”

Tara jumped in where Eugene left off, her voice soft but no less passionate. “You had no reason to trust me, and every reason to hate me. You all did.” Her gaze cut to Maggie, then to Glenn.

Abraham snorted. “Hell. I wasn’t a believer until I saw what you did to get us here. How you refused to give up.” The big man shrugged. “You might have flirted a little with the batshit crazy part of yourself, but no more’n any of us have.” His gaze fell to his knuckles as though remembering his own helpless, near-insane rage.

“I’m not sorry I clocked you on the back of the head.”  Michonne stood up to get the last sliver of cassarole. “It was more to save any of us from secondhand embarrassment though. Man, you _do_ like to monologue when you get your crazy up.”

“If you people start singing Kumbaya, I’m out of here.”

Everyone laughed at Carol’s dry tones, and Daryl felt himself smile at the way Rick looked overwhelmed by their loyalty and trust. He didn’t really understand why Rick would be so surprised about this.  They were his, and he was theirs and that was just about all there was to it.

Rick cleared his throat, and they all ignored the way he focused on his baby girl, taking time to clean her up and get his emotions under control.

“All right. I think we can start making a plan to herd the walkers out of the way. The quarry is dangerous, but if we control how it’s emptied out, then we can control where they go.”

Carl pushed away from the table and turned to his backpack, digging in the bottom. It hurt Daryl’s heart a little to see that they had all brought emergency packs, ready as always to split in case things went to shit. That sort of thinkin’ kept them sharp, and it would keep them alive. Daryl watched as Carl tossed out a few comics and what looked to be a spare pair of underwear before making a smug little ‘aha!’ sound and waving something around in triumph.

Rick looked over at Carl, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Carl put the stuff back in his backpack and handed over the paper a little defensively.  “What? I like maps.” Carl frowned, and sulkily began eating the rest of his casserole, practically oozing injured teenage pride.  Michonne nudged him with her shoulder and he nudged her back, a shy smile on his face, almost hidden by his hair. Daryl could almost see Carl’s shitty mood dissipate like fog on a sunny day.

“That’s pretty damn smart.” Rick didn’t even sound patronizing as he spread out the map onto the table.

Alexandria had been picked strategically. On the map, Daryl could easily see that the whole east side of the former subdivision pushed up against a wooded area in front of the Potamac, and what looked like a large clearing- maybe a park?- near the center of the woods. There was a county highway to the north, and what looked like a larger state highway to the west. The south was where the rest of the subdivision had been. Daryl knew from his travels with Aaron that they- whoever _they_ were who had decided that sort of thing in the middle of the shitstorm that was everyday life when it had first hit- had collapsed both the 495 and the 395, ostensibly to keep people contained, but it was more of a pain in the ass than anything else. Walkers either fell ass over teakettle off the edges of the highway bridges, or the debris left from the bombs had just made it more difficult for them to get around when they needed to.

“Okay, here’s the quarry. Carl’s already circled where we are, and I think we can send the herd south of us if we’re careful on how we do it. Gonna have to barricade a few spots to keep them out of our way, but it should be okay.”

Abraham frowned down at the map. “Anyone else have a problem with the fact we’re sending the fuckers right past our home? It’s like opening up a damn all-you-can-eat buffet if one of them walls collapse.”

Rick gaze flicked over to Daryl for some reason, and Daryl stared back for a second before looking down at the map.  “The quarry only has the one road. That’s this one.” He pointed. “Depending on how many of ‘em there are, and how quickly we move, I bet I can keep their attention.”

“What do you mean?” Carol’s voice was sharp with the worry she felt.

Daryl ignored it, thinking. “Well, I have probably the loudest vehicle around. My bike. I can pack the muffler... think Aaron has a Growler in that mess’a parts he’s been collectin’. Get someone in a car to back me up... here. If I go slow they’ll just about be behind me.” He pointed to the Vee in the road. “Here’s where we can get them past Alexandria.”

Maggie slid into Glenn’s lap, minding both his sore ribs and where he’d been shot. She did it without thinking, just like Glenn brought his hand to her hip without needing to think about it. “Right. Once they’re far enough away, someone can shoot a flare for Daryl to see, then he can just speed off. If we make some kind of distraction a few miles away, they’ll all herd together towards that. Here. This town looks like it’d do.”

“What if someone’s living in the town?” Carl’s voice cracked and he blushed when everyone looked over at him.

Maggie smiled, not unkindly. “Honey, we’ll check it first. Just like we’ll have to fortify some of the walls, make sure we have nothing in their path to distract them...”

“Are you fucking _nuts_?” Carol stood, her face pale except for two bright flags of color on her cheeks. She looked absolutely furious.

Rick huffed out a breath, obviously trying for calm. His face still looked like it hurt him or Daryl knew that he’d be pinching the top of his nose, between his eyes.

“Carol- we ain’t got a choice. They get out of there, they come right here.” Rick flung out his hand, indicating the modern-looking medical facility. “How do you see that playing out? The walls are strong, but you didn’t see how many there were! It’s--”

“Rick,” Morgan interrupted, voice low enough that all of them had to strain to hear. “We had a nice meal, and I appreciate you including me in your strategy session. I’ll help in every way I can. But I think you’re doing the rest of the town a disservice by not including them in on the planning. They’ve had a ... shock. This is a project, and it will give them something to do. To keep busy.” He looked off into the distance, his foggy with some remembered pain. “It’s always better to keep busy.”

Michonne stared at Morgan intensely, her face twisting with understanding. It struck Daryl then that Rick wasn’t the only one who had met Morgan before. He’d heard the stories. Rick, Michonne and Carl had all met him holed up in a town, and he’d turned that town into a one-man defense system.

“I’ll go with Daryl in the car- be bait.” Sasha’s low voice broke the strangely tense moment.

“Shit. Sounds like a Fuckadoodle of a party. I’ll ride shotgun, if that’s okay with you.” The big man grinned a little lopsidedly under his mustache. "There’s three of us, right?” He sniffed dismissively. “Should be about fair.”

The funny thing was, Daryl wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

After that, they all began cleaning up their mess. Carol still didn’t look happy, but when the shy doctor knocked lightly on the door, she slipped back into the weird persona she’d perfected, greeting the woman like an old friend.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to check on my patient.” The woman stuck her head through the open door, then  smiled at Tara, who gave her a wan grin back. “And you.” She pointed to Glenn. “I need to check your stitches. It’s time for your antibiotic.”

Rick smiled at the woman. “Sorry about bootin’ you out of here. It’s just been awhile since we all were able to eat together....?”  He leaned  forward and raised the end of the his sentence in question.”

“Denise. I’m Denise Cloyd.” She blushed a little when Rick shook her hand.

“I appreciate that you’re taking such good care of our Tara..”

“Yeah? Well, you know who would be doing a better job? Pete.” Her smile was sharp and Rick flinched back, surprised.

Daryl admired the spunk of the girl, but felt his hackles rise at the way that Rick seemed to shrink in on himself, shame and guilt almost palpable like a stagnant cologne.  He remembered the way Rick had been so numb after, as shock ricocheted around so quickly in Rick's head that he had to disassociate just to function.

Denise seemed to immediately regret what she’d said, and held up a hand, palm out in apology. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“Fair enough.”

“Actually, I did run into Jessie on the way here. She wanted to know if you could stop by a little later.”

Rick winced.

Daryl was pretty sure they all winced on his behalf. Still, Rick Grimes was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.  He nodded, and they all filed out, walking down the block to their own house. There weren’t any people around. Normally, there would be kids playing, or people on their porches... things like that.  Especially with it not yet being dark, and the crisp bite of autumn to the air.

Daryl walked in silence for a few feet, mulling over Rick’s plan. Morgan had been right- as much as Daryl didn’t really want to acknowledge it. Involving all the useless people around here might make them stop looking at them like shit they scraped off their LL Bean boots. They weren’t part of the community, especially after the violence they’d all just witnessed. Hell, Deanna might have half a mind to chuck them out.

Maybe not though, with a herd of death ready to swallow them up.

“Hey!”

Daryl stopped at Aaron’s greeting. He raised a hand, and Aaron beckoned him inside his house. Daryl turned to Rick, remembering the invitation. “I think I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“You’re not gonna...oh. Okay.”

“What?” Daryl didn’t know what the expression on Rick’s face meant. He almost looked... angry? Disappointed?

“Nothing.” Rick smiled a little, and whatever had been on his face disappeared. “You go on ahead. We can go over the plan when you get back.”

Daryl rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, well, it might get a little... I mean, I don’t know how long...” Daryl found that he didn’t want to just push off Aaron’s invitation. Especially when Rick had kept him at arm’s length all day, while he went off to do whatever it was that he and Morgan had been so busy doing before finding the quarry.

“Ah.” Rick smiled at him, then stepped back when Carl, carrying Judith, walked in-between them. “Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you then.”

Daryl nodded and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He didn’t expect an attack at Aaron’s house, but he thought it was best to be safe.

Daryl turned and went up Aaron and Eric’s steps, feeling less like an outsider than when he’d been here the last time. Eric leaned in like he was going to give him a hug, and to Daryl’s surprise he allowed it. Aaron looked pretty damn surprised too, if by the way his eyebrows took up residence in his hairline was any indication.

Eric limped a little awkwardly with the boot from his broken ankle. “Oh come on, come on! Do you want booze first? Or food? Or just a little something to nosh?” He moved away and reached out for Aaron’s hand, tugging his boyfriend (husband? Partner?- Daryl wasn’t sure) towards the open kitchen.  The house was the same as Daryl’s which made sense, but it boasted a much more lived-in look.  Daryl saw the license plates on the wall and frowned, remembering Aaron’s excitement for the Alaskan one in the cannery shipping yard. He made a mental note to go back sometime, see if he could pick it up.

“Just ate.”

Eric’s shoulders drooped for just a moment before he brightened, throwing open a cooler with a little ‘tah dah!’ sound. “I hope Heineken is okay. I think there are a few ales, and some IPA stuff that Aaron over there likes. _Bleurgh_. It tastes like a loaf of bread dipped in hops and slathered with oranges.”

Seeing the cooler full of ice and beer was absolutely surreal. Having had more than one beer in his not-so-distant lifetime, Daryl knew that beer would stay fresh when refrigerated for about two years. Not that any beer ever stayed that long in his or Merle’s fridge, back in the day. Still, having the wherewithal and the fucking _space_ to store _beer_ of all things just seemed... insane.  Daryl had figured that most of the beer must have been flat by now, but by the way Eric looked so happy, Daryl just knew it wouldn’t be.

“A Heine is fine.”  

Eric positively beamed at him, popping off the top with a little _whhsctfizzz_ and the tinny-sounding _clink_ of it hitting the counter, and handed the ice cold bottle over to Daryl.

Holy fuck, that beer tasted so good. He’d drank half of it before he realized quite what had happened.

“Wow.” He pulled off, wiping his mouth and bracing himself for the rush of the alcohol. “Hell, that’s... that’s amazing.”

“You two can go on over to the sitting room. I’ll bring the snacks.”

Daryl and Aaron made their way to the living area, where one of the men had lit a fairly nice fire in the fireplace. While it wasn’t quite cold enough for a roaring fire, it did make the place feel comfortable. Cozy, if Daryl had to pick a word.

“So, thank you for coming. He’s been cooking for a few hours.” Aaron smiled, and Daryl immediately vowed to eat whatever the hell Eric had made, wishing that he hadn’t already eaten.

“Oh stop! It’s no trouble!” Eric yelled from the kitchen banging a few pots and pans around.

Aaron widened his eyes significantly, and Daryl had to hide his grin.

“I’ll try to remember my manners this time.”

Aaron waved a hand. “I think we’re beyond that.”

Daryl cocked his head. “Why, ‘cuz you’ve seen me naked?”

They both winced at the sound of something clanging loudly in the kitchen, and the hissed ‘shit’ under Eric’s breath.

“Uh. I meant that... because you saved my life.”

Eric limped from the kitchen, popping the cooler next to the coffee table and what looked like honest to god _chips and salsa_ arranged on a little plate onto the table’s surface.

“Well! Sounds like _quite_ the adventure!” Eric’s smile was amused, and lacked any sort of malice. Daryl hadn’t meant to imply anything, but it was obvious that Eric wasn’t jealous. Aaron gave him no reason to be jealous.

“Oh babe you should have let me get that.” Aaron caught Eric’s wrist, and kissed the soft skin, looking faintly guilty.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Eric plopped down on the loveseat next to Aaron, swinging his legs up onto his lap in a move that looked long-practiced. “Now. Okay. I want the whole story. Take it from the top.”

Daryl took a long pull of his beer and darted a glance over to Aaron, trying to gauge what he was supposed to say. He didn’t want to get the dude in trouble on the home front, but lying about the danger they’d been in didn’t sit well with him either. He shrugged, a little uncomfortable.

“It was pretty bad. We had no idea that it was a trap, that everything was set up from the beginning to the van parked in the parking lot. We decided to take the chance and went in. Aaron there found you a license plate, but I’m the dumb fuck that sprung the trap. One second we’re fine, and the next it’s a shitstorm.” He took a shaky drink of his beer and realized that he’d finished it. Daryl leaned forward and got another, popping off the top with long practice. He drank, knowing that he was stalling. “We had to make a run for it, and ran to the van. Aaron found a note, telling us that it was a trap, and we were surrounded. Had to be four, five deep, from all angles. They woulda broken through the glass in maybe ten minutes. Twenty, tops.”

“What did you do?” Eric’s whisper was a bare breath of air.

“Me? Nuthin. Had an existential crisis, realized that maybe I was into someone and too much of a dumbass to do anything about it. Your man there,” Daryl pointed with his beer. “... he refused to let me go and draw them off. Said we’d go together, or not at all.”

He watched as Eric and Aarons’ hands reached out for each other, both obviously knowing that the other was doing the same thing and would be waiting for them. Their pinkies stroked slightly before they entwined fingers, without thinking about it. It spoke of a long-time intimacy, and reminded Daryl strongly of Maggie and Glenn’s love for one another.

Daryl blinked. He wasn’t enough of an asshole to think that that level of intimacy was reserved only for straight people, but in his limited experience, men tended to be more brutal, more... (and he winced at this, even inwardly) “guy” like. Not emotional. No depth to a relationship. Hell, look at the way Rick and him had kissed that night in the rain. Same sort of thing- desperation to get off, desperation to connect, but nothing like what the two men in front of him displayed towards each other. He cleared his throat.

“Well, about then, someone started beating the shit out of them. We heard it, and wasn’t sure what was happening. It was on Aaron’s side, so we made a break for it, once we saw that it was clear.” Talking about it made it real again, and Daryl realized that he was out of beer again. His head felt a little swimmy, and he leaned forward to take one of the chips. He saw that the salsa bowl was a little chili pepper, and felt like he was a character in someone else’s play for a second, dropped into a weird, alternate reality where everyone lived through the end of the world but some of them had beer stockpiled and cute chili pepper salsa bowls, while the other ate earthworms and dog and was pitifully grateful for it.

“Holy shit,” Erick breathed, leaning forward and grasping Daryl’s hand. He squeezed once, and Daryl saw that his eyes were wet. “Why...” He cleared his throat. “If bad things like that happen so often, why do you like going out there so much?”

Daryl shrugged and tried not to burp too obviously. Eric dropped his hand and leaned back into Aaron’s body, sharing his strength. Daryl wasn’t bothered by the man’s casual  touching, which was a little odd for him, but he didn’t quite know how to tell Eric that. He didn’t want to stay for a threesome or anything, but the truth was, Eric’s easy affection... was nice.  “I. I have to get out of here sometimes. Was like that back in the prison too, and It’s worse now, after--” He stopped, not wanting to bring up Terminus. These two were lambs comparatively, and Daryl didn’t want to be the one to tell them how things were. “-After some bad shit.”

“Claustrophobic?” Aaron’s voice was low with sympathy. He tapped Eric’s legs and leaned forward to replace everyone’s beers.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that. It’s just- easier out there, sometimes. I mean I know there might be a close call that I don’t bounce back from. But going out there makes me feel...” He trailed off.

“Makes you feel..?” Eric asked, cocking his head.

Daryl shrugged. “Just that. It makes me feel.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, while everyone proceeded Dary’s unwittingly intense words.

Aaron changed the subject, asking Daryl questions about the prison, and life outside, and Daryl talked for what felt like hours. It was nice, really. Companionable, when Daryl had never tried to be sociable enough. It reminded him a little of the communal dinners back at the prison, back when things had been good.

The chips and salsa were gone, and  so were the mini quiche things Eric had made for dinner. Eric had turned on some music while they talked, and when Aaron had gone into the kitchen to throw away their empties, Eric danced up behind him and swung his partner into a slow dance. They moved together flawlessly, Aaron automatically compensating for Eric’s broken ankle, and all at once Daryl was reminded of Aaron’s desperation when he bust through the doors to get to the little machine shop they’d holed up in, back when Eric had first broken his ankle.  It spoke of love, and intimacy, and

“ _God_. I want someone to love me like that.”  

Daryl didn’t even realize that he’d spoken out loud until the two men stopped abruptly, turning as one to stare at him in shock.

Daryl set the empty beer bottle down with shaking hands, knowing that he was blushing like a fuckin’ kid.

“Hey, you should have someone to love you, Daryl.” Aaron’s voice was low as he took a step to reach out and shut off the music. “But, you’ll never know until you try.” He tried to stare at Daryl in something mimicking conciliatory concern, but was just drunk enough that his gaze wavered a little.  Aaron didn’t say Rick’s name, but he might as well have shouted it.

_I.... saw you. And Rick. In the rain. Just for a second. I saw his face when he left, and your face in that flash of lightning after Glenn called for you._

Aaron’s words came back to Daryl with all the subtlety of a punch to the face and he blinked, suddenly back in the here and now.  

The answer came to him, as clear as the ringing of a bell. Rick said that he would be waiting up for him. Rick had _expected_ Daryl there, and had been disappointed when he wasn’t there. He should... he should go. Now.

Daryl set the beer bottle down with a _clank_ , missing the coaster completely. He straightened up, ignoring the way the room seemed to spin lightly.   _Damn_. He was skinnier than he used to be, and for damn sure hadn’t had alcohol in a while, but Daryl thought that he’d be able to hold his liquor better than this.

“You sure about this?” Aaron cocked his head, clearly following what Daryl planned on doing.

“Yeah.” He raised hand distractedly, waving goodbye to a clearly confused Eric, who belatedly chirped a distracted ‘bye!’ back Aaron had a funny sort of smirk on his face as he made shooing motions towards the door. Daryl scooped up his bag and crossbow and jogged down the stairs, his heart starting to beat a little faster with nerves.

He’d tried. He’d _tried_ to forget about the kiss. It hadn’t been easy with every goddamn thing in the world lining up to remind him of it, but he’d done his best. Daryl had been so focused on giving Rick what he wanted- a sense of ‘normal’- that he’d ignored his own feelings, as confusing as they were. And yeah, maybe this was just beer logic, but he’d almost fucking _died_ two days ago, had been fucking terrified to be there without Rick. Even then, Rick had been at the forefront of his thoughts and his heart--

The garage door was open, soft light spilling out onto the driveway. The garage looked clean and orderly; nothing was out of its place for all that it was obviously used as a workshop.  Daryl spared this a quick glance, cataloguing it in his head before his mind just... stopped.

Daryl halted so quickly on the concrete that his bootheels gave a little _screech_ of rubber against the surface.

He stared, shocked into stillness. Daryl heard a small, hurt sound and realized dimly that he had made it.

Rick and Jessie stood kissing in the soft, welcoming light of her garage.

Daryl watched them in something approaching horrified shock, the muscles in his body tightening more and more with tension as he watched their lips and tongues move, meet, break apart for breath and go back for more. _This_ was a kiss of... sweetness. Of intimacy, and of affection. Both of Jessie’s hands fisted in the material of the worn shirt Rick wore, holding him to her as though she’d never let him go.

Daryl heard Rick make a low, masculine, breathy moan, and the tension he was under _snapped._

He turned blindly, not seeing anything but the way they leaned into each other, slowly learning how the other tasted. Daryl stumbled, caught himself, and started walking more quickly. He had no destination in mind, until suddenly he did.

He wanted out.

Daryl thought he heard a high-pitched, shocked sound behind him, but ignored it as he hauled the startled gatekeeper out of his way, unlocking the gate with hands that shook.  He was out of the gate and into the woods before anyone could follow him.  Daryl knew how to walk silently, and how to disappear in plain sight, especially in the night.  It wasn’t hard to go and go until he found a tree that would work. It was a little tricky to climb it with a crossbow, his backpack, blurry vision, and the remnants of the buzz he’d had going on at Aaron and Eric’s, but he made it.

He couldn’t stop seeing Rick and Jessie entwined and kissing. Even as Daryl felt betrayed and jealous, he knew that this was just a reprieve; a brief stint at being alone so that he could cram his stupid, senseless _feelings_ back in the box he’d kept them in.  

Slowly, he got his heart rate back under control as the night bugs realized that his stillness meant that he wanted nothing to do with them, and started cheeping and creaking and chirping again.  No one followed him. Nothing stirred on the ground below him, as Daryl made himself more comfortable.

This was... well. It was fucking _awful_ but it was... good too. Or it would be good, when Daryl could stop gnawing on his own liver long enough to really accept the inevitable. What did he think; that Daryl would go skipping over to the home they all shared and make some pathetic, romantic declaration and Rick -t _he straight, recently widowed man with two kids, let’s not forget_ , Daryl told himself brutally- would fall into his arms?

Daryl felt something brush against his cheeks, and absently brought his hand up to wipe whatever it was away.

Daryl was genuinely shocked to feel the wetness there, and realized a bit late that the blurry vision from before had entirely been due to the fact that his eyes were full of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N #2:- ***grabs Daryl's crossbow and her Thanksgiving leftovers and goes to hide in her bunker.*** Ah tiny bit of a cliffhanger there. Sorry? Don't hate me too much? Jlm calls me an angstwhore for a reason. ***clears throat*** Haai! ***waves again*** I hope you can understand why I moved that kiss up a bit. Obviously, timeline-wise, it happened later. 
> 
> A/N#3: To the SCAD (?) students (?) on the bus- sorry for breaking your heart. No, I wasn't there to hear it firsthand. A friend of mine heard you talking about me and lost her shit texting me immediately, whereupon I immediately lost _my_ shit. Yes. Much shit was lost that day. Next time feel free to comment or introduce yourselves. I don't bite. Much. :) 
> 
> A/N#4: Happy Birthday, mom. As a tried and true Hank Williams fan, she would have loved what I titled this chapter.


	19. And my Mind and My Gun (They Comfort Me)- part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 (part 1 of 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always , to **FoxyK** for the beta and love.

**A/N: *wave* Er. This chapter is the actual halfway point that I first drafted. Since I have a better chance of seeing a literal unicorn than keeping chapter lengths consistent, take that with a grain of salt.  Also, this is another monster chapter that will be split into three parts. (If you think about it- it covers almost three episodes, so rather than rush through, I wanted to do it right! If you haven’t already, you might want to subscribe to either me or this story so that you get updates!)**

 

* * *

  
  


“Keep them safe.” 

Rick hadn’t expected those to be his famous last words. He knew, and accepted that he could go out with this plan, but the only other person he trusted to take care of what needed to be done was on a motorcycle, playing pied piper to thousands of walkers. 

If Daryl, and for that matter Abraham and Sasha, could risk so much to do their part, then by  _ god _ Rick would do his. 

The plan was solid. If the horn hadn’t gone off, then Rick was fairly confident that it would have gone off without too many hitches. It was no good planning for that sort of shit. Either things went right, or there was a clusterfuck of such epic proportions that no one could conceivably plan for it. 

This was most definitely the later. 

Rick blinked sweat out of his eyes as he ran. It was so hot that he could see the heat baking the concrete. Rick’s entire body was covered with sweat so heavy that he knew he looked like he had taken a swim or caught a torrential downpour.  He reeked. His boots were comfortable enough for walking around, but not exactly a fan favorite as running shoe, especially on Virginian concrete. 

Rick pushed himself to go faster.  At any second part of the herd could break through the tree line to either side of him. His breath whistled in his chest, and while he hasn’t smoked in years, he regretted it now while his lungs basically told him to fuck off. 

He saw a few walkers eating someone who hadn’t been quick enough and put on a burst of speed. He heard Glenn’s voice crackle to life on the walkie, but was too busy to focus much on what he was saying. He got something about setting a fire, and “Good Luck, Dumbass,” but was distracted when the walker with a machete stuck in his neck turned suddenly. Rick cut the palm of his hand on the knife and swore, shoving his smaller pen knife in the walker’s brain before jerking the machete free. 

Rick sucked in oxygen, his head swimming a little from the heat and the adrenaline rush. He quickly searched the dead for weapons and found a messenger bag that would help a little. Rick didn’t have much time to catch his breath, not if he wanted to remain ahead of the herd. He sucked in two deep breaths and started running again. 

In high school, Shane had laughed at Rick for running track. As star quarterback, Shane had thought it a pussy sport- barely even a sport at all. But Rick had enjoyed it. He hadn’t much cared for the relays, or any of the field events. Cross country had appealed to him; the simplicity of just putting one foot in front of the other, the time to think, the burn of muscles and of his lungs as he breathed. 

This kind of running wasn’t like that. Not by a long shot. 

His hand throbbed, blood pulsing out of the quickly wrapped cut with every thud of his heart. It stung with the acidity of his sweat, and god knew what was on the rag he’d torn from the bag, but he wasn’t leaving a blood trail as he ran, so Rick figured that he’d count it as a win. 

Rick’s lungs struggled with the oxygen, and he knew that he was soaked with sweat by the time that the RV came into sight.  Coming from this direction, it was easy to see the carnage that they’d barely avoided, and a few of the walkers still twitched, reaching sluggishly out to him, with broken arms and torsos. Rick made a mental note to deal with it later.

His bloody hand slipped on the RV’s handle as he jerked the door open.  Rick did a cursory check of the indoors and tripped a little in his haste to get to the driver’s seat. He sat down and gave himself a few deep breaths before turning over the key.

The engine didn’t start.

Rick gave it a little gas and turned the key again.

It  _ still _ didn’t start.

“Fuck!”  Rick clenched his hands on the wheel, trying not to overreact. He knew that the RV was finicky. Even with Glenn fixing it the last time, the damn thing still needed a gentle hand. Rick had probably flooded it in his haste, and now was stuck here waiting. He rested his head on the steering wheel, trying not to feel like he’d let everyone down.  In the past few days it seemed like he’d done a lot of that.  He slowed his breathing, and shut his eyes, listening for the milling herd. Rick knew he had no choice. He’d fucked himself up and lost whatever advantage he’d gained by his running.

_ Shane? Take a note. _

It  _ really _ wasn’t his goddamn day.

****

_ Rick’s lips still tingled when he turned around. Before he could even process the kiss, or acknowledge the broad shoulders of Daryl’s back as he walked quickly towards the gate, Rick saw Michonne standing on the steps of their house, staring at him. Michonne, Rick and Jesse all froze for a second in an awkward triangle as Michone starred with a raised eyebrow.  _

_ “Oh god. I don’t know why I did that.” Jesse sounded somewhere between intensely humiliated and horrified. It wasn’t what exactly what Rick wanted to heard after kissing someone the first time.   _

_ Ignoring Michonne’s carefully blank face for the moment, Rick turned back to Jesse. She had taken two steps back and had both hands up in a classically defensive posture, almost like she expected--- _

_ Oh.  _

_ Oh, shit.  _

_ “Look. It’s fine.” He forced a smile. As much as he loved and admired Michonne, he would much rather have done this without the audience.  Rick moved slowly, giving Jesse ample time to back away. “People react to trauma in different ways. I mean--” he smiled a little- “It’s not a problem.” _

_ “I was just crying, and you were so sweet to hold me like that, even with everything and oh my god my garage  _ door  _ is open!”  _

_Rick winced, remembering the view he’d had of Daryl walking away. His heart fell to somewhere around his feet.  There was_ no way _that Daryl had missed that kiss.  Rick darted a shifty glance around the well-lit street and felt his heart drop a few more inches.  Eric and Aaron stood on the sidewalk in front of their house, staring at him. Even from this distance, Rick could see that Eric looked mad enough to shoot someone. In his ankle brace and with Aaron very clearly holding his boyfriend’s bicep in a very strong grip, the visual that first popped into Rick’s mind was that of a very pissed off cat ready to launch itself at someone it didn’t care for too much._

_ Maybe he was just being paranoid in thinking that everyone was staring him like something on the bottom of their shoe, but Rick didn’t think so. He felt like something behind a display case, and didn’t much care for the feeling.  _

_ “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know it didn’t mean....” Rick stopped right there, not wanting to put words in Jessie’s mouth. He was too confused by his own actions to try to analyze hers. “I think that I should go ahead and go through.” He ran a hand through his hair and forced a rather awkward grin. “ ’ll talk to you later.”  Rick dredged up a smile from somewhere. Jesse looked more upset than she had before they’d kissed.  Her shoulders had hunched in awkward defensiveness. Rick watched as her fingers came up to scrub at her mouth, before she realized what she was doing and froze.  _

_ Out of nowhere, the memory of Daryl slouched against the shed, his arms slowly sliding down the wall to touch his wet, swollen lips before Rick had scurried away jumped, unbidden, into his memory. It surprised him; Rick had done a  _ very  _ thorough job of burying that particular memory, especially after he and Daryl had talked in the maroon Camaro.  There was no point in thinking otherwise. Rick knew his memory of that conversation had been very clear. Daryl was obviously just about the last person on earth that would welcome Rick’s mouth on his, so why  _ should _ he waste time thinking of something that was never gonna happen?  _

_ “Night Rick. I’ll, uh. We can talk later, maybe?” Jessie held up one hand in a wave and Rick moved back a few steps so that she could close the garage door. Jessie shooed him out of her garage without seeming rude, and Rick was more than happy to leave. He had just turned towards the direction Daryl had gone when the screen door to their house banged open.  _

_ Carol didn’t even have to say anything. The look on her face was plenty eloquent. Rick’s gaze flipped from Michonne, up the porch steps to Carol, over to Aaron and Eric, and back down to Michonne. _

_ He sighed.  _

_ This  _ really _ wasn’t his fuckin’ day.  _

****

The RV started with a thudding groan of an overworked engine, and Rick slammed it into drive, shaking off the memory. Now wasn’t the time for that. He had to remain focused, or he was going to fuck this up.  He slammed the shifter into gear and hit the accelerator, the ancient vehicle lurching into surprised action like a weary horse who had just had its rump slapped.  

Rick drove the few miles to their meeting spot and put the RV into park, turning the engine off with a wry smile. Weeks ago, Eugene and Daryl had had an argument that was for the two of them, pretty heated. Daryl had insisted that letting the engine idle was the best way to conserve their limited fuel. Eugene had provided literal facts and figures (that none of them believed them after his whopper of a lie about DC) claiming that it used less gasoline when an engine was actually turned off, but neither of them had won the argument until a very smug Carl had thrown a  _ Mythbusters _ DVD at Daryl and Eugene had crowed for at least ten minutes straight. 

The RV shuddered, something in the engine knocking against something else as the engine turned off. It was quiet. If this were a book, or a play, or something needlessly dramatic and not his actual life, Rick would say that it was  _ too _ quiet; the silence thick and heavy, with something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Rick allowed himself a moment to breathe, to wipe the sweat from his face with the arm of his shirt. He caught sight of his hand and it was as though seeing the deep cut reminded him that it really fucking  _ hurt. _  Rick reached up into the visor for some kleenex with his sore hand, and for the walkie talkie with his good hand. 

“Glenn, I’m in place by my best guess. You guys make it back yet?” His voice echoed out into nothingness, and Rick waited for the comeback. The static crackled and frowning, Rick tried again.  “Glenn.” 

Rick refused to acknowledge the little niggle of panic that churned his gut. Where the hell was Glenn? He’d just checked in. The static meant that Glenn could have turned off his radio, but it almost meant that Glenn could be...

No. 

No, Glenn was too resourceful. That was stupid.  Rick tried to raise Alexandria. “ Tobin You there?” Rick waited a few breaths, the little niggle of nervousness growing as Tobin didn’t respond. The horn had stopped, but god knew what it had drawn to their home. What if they had been compromised? What if the walls were....

_ No! _

When Rick was younger, he used to make bargains with God. Immature stuff, like, ‘Hey, God, if you give me an A on this history test, then I promise to study.’ Or,  ‘Hey, God, if you can just make sure I get home without hurting anyone, I’ll never drink again.’  Or even, ‘Hey, God, if you can get that hot cheerleader Lori to go out with me...’  

Well, God hadn’t let him down. Until very recently, that was. Rick didn’t know if it was desperation or nostalgia that had him closing his eyes shut with a brief prayer, offered up to something he no longer believed in. 

_ ‘Hey, God, if you can just make sure he answers, that he’s okay. Please?’ _

Rick licked suddenly dry lips in a nervous gesture, the flash of Daryl’s hunched in shoulders and quick, speed-walk to the gate flashing in Rick’s memory. The following morning, Daryl hadn’t acted like anything was wrong after he’d seen him and Jessie kiss in her garage, but Rick hadn’t been able to get that whole night out of his mind, either. He was a little appalled at himself, a little pissed off at the almost palpable waves of disappointment coming off of either Aaron or Eric, because who the fuck were  _ they _ to judge  _ him _ , and a whole lot ashamed- so much so that he still hadn’t been alone with Carol, even with all the planning they’d done for the quarry.  Swallowing hard, he pressed the button. 

“Daryl.” 

“I'm here.” 

Rick closed his eyes in absolute, tangible relief.  He had to breathe for a second before he could speak. “Won't be long now. They’re almost here. I’ll get them going your way again.” 

Daryl didn’t answer, and Rick frowned down at the walkie. 

  
“How ‘bout  _ that _ Daryl? He’s gonna be coming our way.” 

Rick couldn't parse through why Sasha sounded so pissed off. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could, Rick was distracted by the sound of gunfire, coming in the direction of Alexandria. He jerked his head to the right, staring into the woods, as though he could see who was firing on whom. Belatedly, he realized that the muffled pops were probably audible from his death grip on the walkie’s speaker button. Rick’s heart switched spots with his stomach as Carl’s pale face-- drawn and shocked after being flung off his own dad’s back-- after Rick’s fight with Pete flashed in his mind. 

“Gunfire from back home. We gotta sit with it and hope they can handle it. I think they can. They have to. We keep going forward for them. We can’t turn back ‘cuz we’re afraid.”  Rick knew that he was talking to himself more than anyone else. The words felt empty. Useless. 

“We ain’t afraid.” Abraham’s clear drawl caused Rick to blink, and weirdly some of the panic to dissipate. The big man was right. Rick and his family  _ weren’t _ afraid. Rick allowed himself one breath; he knew that there was little that they couldn’t handle. 

He  _ knew  _ that, and so did his people. 

“Going back now before it’s done, that’d be for us.”  Rick listened again, straining his ears for more gunshots, or the groaning sound of the walkers, anything.  “The herd has to be almost here.”  It was a warning to himself as much as to Sasha, Daryl and Abraham. A little belatedly, Rick grabbed a few more tissues and pressing them to the still sluggishly-bleeding cut in his palm, frowing at the darker blood that he knew wasn’t his. He’d need to make sure to stop by the infirmary to make sure that it wasn’t inf--

The sound of the RV’s door slamming open and the subsequent gunshots, deafeningly loud in the small confines of the RV, caused Rick to dive for cover, not even realizing that he was still clutching the walkie button as he tried to make himself as small a target as possible. He caught a glimpse of someone filthy, holding a small handgun and Rick just reacted, adrenaline sending him twisting from the passenger seat, launching himself at the man who was shooting.

Faintly, from the walkie, Rick could hear Daryl’s panicked voice yelling his name, but he couldn’t think about that now. 

The man with the gun obviously hadn’t expected his target to move  _ towards _ him, bellowing like a wounded bear. They landed on the floor of the RV, sliding a little with the force of Rick’s tackle. Rick felt the man’s jaw break under his closed fist, and he tried to yank the gun out of the man’s hand with a feral growl. He felt pain in his stomach, his kidneys, and only realized there was another person in the RV when something solid closed around his throat, cutting off Rick’s high, whistling breath.  He flung his skull back and felt the man behind him’s nose shatter, losing the arm that was strangling him.  Rick kicked at the man on the ground, grinding his knee into the man’s balls and it was only then that the man’s grip loosened on his gun enough that Rick could wrench it out of his tight grip. 

He shot once, and the man behind him fell to the ground with a thud. The man under him had time for a split second to shrink back before Rick turned and shot him in the head, ending the little fight almost before it began. 

Rick heard Daryl’s “Rick” from the walkie as he began searching the men he’d just killed.  They were filthy, and the stink of them obliterated his own sweat-soaked stench. Rick frowned at the ‘ **W** ’ carved into both of their foreheads and rifled through their pockets. The man who had attempted to strangle him had an AK that Rick recognized from Olivia’s stash. Obviously it had only been the close quarters of the RV that had kept him from shooting Rick.  

Rick ignored the throbbing of his hand as blood poured through the gash as he knelt to get to the first man’s pockets. The small jar of applesauce cased Rick’s entire gut to clench, terror rocking through him like the force of a bullet, causing his legs to weaken as he crouched there.  

_ Judith! _

Thoughts dribbled away like water down a drain as he stared at the small jar. This was proof;  _ proof _ that these W men had been in Alexandria. The faint gunshots from before now made a terrifyingly clear sense. The horn, the way their plan had fallen apart... 

_ They were being attacked.  _

Rick heard a small sound and jerked his head up, outside sound and sensation narrowing to a pinpoint as Rick caught a glimpse of three more of them sneaking along the side of the RV in the side-view mirror. Without having to think much about what he was doing, he picked up the AK, charged it and fired through the pressboard and plastic wall of the RV itself, killing the W people before they even knew what had hit them. He saw them collapse onto the ground and it was as though seeing that reminded him in a rush of understanding exactly  _ why _ firing on them had been such a bad idea. 

“Aw, fuck.” 

Rick dove into the driver’s seat, staring dumbly at the smoking console from the W man’s stray bullets. He turned the key, feeling a sick premonition of what would happen. The engine had already been on his last legs. The fact that something was still  _ smoking _ on the console couldn’t possibly be good; Rick could see the some of the ancient wiring had melted and fused together. 

“Oh come on you fucking  _ whore _ , come on!” 

The engine made the same ticking sound from before, but didn’t turn over. Rick heard the faint growling sound of a walker and jerked his head up, staring around him. 

“No, oh no oh no oh no no,  _ fuck. _ ”

He could see them stumbling through the tree line, in twos and threes. The gunshots, and the machine gun fire had drawn them to him like flies to honey. Rick had two minutes, five at the most, before he was surrounded. 

The herd that he’d been fighting so hard to stay ahead of was here.  Rick blinked twice and gave himself a second to suck in oxygen. His muscles trembled, on the verge of exhaustion but Rick knew that he had only one chance to do this, so he had to make it count. 

He had to assume that Daryl, Sasha and Abraham had led the bulk of the herd south, like they’d planned.  Rick  _ had _ to believe that, or all this was fucking pointless. Glenn... well. Something had gone wrong there, and he’d missed the rendezvous point. That meant that Alexandria was vulnerable, and Rick needed to be there sooner, rather than later. 

He reached to the passenger seat floorboard and snatched up the walkie, pushing the strap of the AK so the gun was on his back.  The muzzle was still hot enough that Rick felt the welt rise on his neck, but that was the least of his fucking worries. The messenger bag was far enough back on his hip that he knew he could run, and that was it. 

It was time to go. 

He stood, kicking open the door to the RV and shooting the two walkers that stood there in the head.  Rick swung the AK back into his hands and fired, clearing himself a path.  Rick darted through, stumbling a little on the wet ground, and catching his shoulder on the corner of the RV’s back bumper. 

Cold, dead fingers brushed against him, and Rick pushed forward, darting around the ones he could. Rick felt a tug on the strap of his messenger bag and swore under his breath. It was dangerous to drop them, but it would be more dangerous to have no weapons at all. 

Rick waited until he had enough of a space around him before dropping the walkie and yanking his smaller knife from its sheath, keeping the grasping hands from around him with effort.

He smelled the fetid breath before he heard it, long-honed instinct causing Rick to use the momentum from the movement of his arm to plunge the blade into the walker’s head. It fell against his back before falling to the ground, but Rick had room to make it to the road and that was his only goal at this point- to fix  whatever the fuck had gone wrong and make it back to Alexandria. 

Running again felt strangely like he’d gone full circle. He was only a little over a mile from the gates, but Rick knew that he’d be leading the walkers that had turned to investigate the noise from the RV as well as any that appeared through the trees ahead or around of him.  Rick didn’t know where in the herd he was- if he was at the head of it  or somewhere in the middle, but he knew he had no choice; committed to this plan as his only chance to make it through. 

He only had one close call, but was able to dodge around the rest in the road, cursing inwardly each time more and more of them turned to follow him. He felt like a demented pied piper- literally leading death to the safety and-  _ please _ ,  _ god- _ security of his home. 

He turned left on Pine, and sprinted through the stalls on Wenthurst, before dodging around a hub of walkers who had gone a little ahead of the herd.  Soon enough, the gate was in his view, coming closer and closer with each pounding step. He could see the semi where it had crashed into the steel wall out of the corner of his eye and knew that what he’d been imagining was true- Alexandria wasn’t safe anymore. 

“Open the gate!” 

Shit.  _ Shit, _ there were too many of them still, around the fence, probably still milling around from whatever had called them here in the first place. 

“Open the gate,  _ now! _ ” 

Rick knew that he was about at the end. His body was just too exhausted. Pure stubbornness had forced him beyond what he thought he could physically endure, and Rick wasn’t about to give up now. He’d climb the fucking gate if he had to. 

Rick saw the gate start to open and turned to the walker that shambled from behind one of the cars. He stumbled and his body fell onto the ground. Rick tried to catch himself and managed to scrape what felt like three layers of skin off of his good hand. The pain from his bad hand hitting the concrete caused his vision to white out momentarily, but Michonne’s panicked scream of his name had him reacting before Rick thought about it, pushing to his feet and running the last few steps inside the gate. He heard it clang shut and the thud of several walkers hit it.

Rick collapsed, absolutely fucking exhausted. 

His mouth was so dry that it hurt to catch his breath, his lungs and diaphragm and esophagus all rebelling against the abuse of sprinting for miles and miles, despite the brief respite of a gunfight in-between.  He was dimly aware of the sweat stinging the cuts on his skin. Of the mangled mess of whatever the fuck he’d done to his hand and the dull throb of a sprained ankle. 

“Rick?” 

_ Maggie. _

“He told me, ‘Good luck, dumbass.’ Said he and Nicholas were in a---” 

“Hush now. Just breathe, Rick.” Rick opened his eyes to see Maggie crouched down to his left, and Michonne to his right. Michonne held out a water bottle, and Maggie didn’t hesitate to help Rick sit up,  Michonne wouldn’t let him gulp the water, despite how much he wanted to. 

“What---?”

“I said hush, Rick Grimes. Drink your water.” Maggie’s drawl left no room for questions, and given the fact that his his momma didn’t raise no dummies, Rick hushed and drank his water. 

“Eugene, get him to the infirmary. Rosita, run ahead and tell Denise that Rick’s managed to hurt his fool self, and will be along directly.” 

Michonne’s lips twitched as she raised her eyebrows, still keeping ahold of the water bottle. Rick could recognize a lot of Maggie’s dad in the way the slim woman drew strength from god knew where, organizing and making plans. Rick only had to dart his gaze up to the scaffolding, where Deanna stood staring down at the sea of the dead with undisguised horror to know why Maggie felt like she’d had to step into the leadership role for which Deanna and Reg had slowly been grooming her.

“Tobin, thanks for the quick thinking with the gate, but I need you to make sure your crew has secured the wall. Jessie, you think you can take over with the bodies? Carol’s around here somewhere, hunting up the rest of them.”

Hearing Jessie’s name caused Rick’s eyes to fly open, and he started to pull away to say something, probably very stupid, to her. Before he could, Michonne’s eyes narrowed and the water bottle tipped. Rick had the choice of taking another drink or choking. 

Realizing that everything was under control for the moment, Rick drank his damn water and tried to convince his lungs to work like they were supposed to. 

Eugene was strangely subdued as he came over to help Rick stand, and for the life of him, Rick couldn’t tell if it was because Abraham hadn’t come back with them or because of something that had happened here while they were gone. Rick hissed out a pained breath when Eugene grabbed his side, and it took Rick a moment to get his feet under him. All of his muscles were trembling and overworked, and Rick felt like a newborn colt as he took an awkward step, most of his weight on the other man. 

“Someone gonna fill me in?” 

Rick felt the  _ thwap _ of either Maggie or Michonne literally whupping him upside the back of his head and was so surprised that he snorted a cackle-sounding laugh. 

“You will wait until you’ve been looked at by the _medical_ _professional_ before you start answering questions. Everyone! What are you just standing around for? We all have our jobs to do!” Maggie glared at everyone with her hands planted firmly on her hips, and Rick noticed that even Eugene got the lead out, shuffling along a little more quickly towards the clinic.

Denise met them at the door. 

“You again? What’s wrong? Have you been shot? Bit?” 

Eugene sucked in a sharp breath, sounding as though the idea of Rick being bit actually hurt him. Rick found himself strangely touched that Eugene would be upset, and shook his head. 

“No. I’m fine. My hand though.” 

Denise gestured to the infirmary bed and Rick shook his head again. “I’ll just sit here in this chair. Eugene, I’m good, man. Thanks for everything.” Eugene shrugged and walked out, his shoulders hunched. Rick made a mental note to check on him later, see what was up. 

He looked back just in time to see the look on Denise’s face as she stuck on some gloves. “Blade?” 

“Yeah. Took it out of a walker.”

“Why the hell did you take it  _ out _ of a walker? From the looks of things you probably should've left it where it was."

"Well he wasn't using it at the time.” Rick’s mouth hiked up in a half smile. Rick thought for a moment that Denise was going  _ also  _ going to smack him on the back of the head before she remembered that she had sworn ‘to do no harm.’ For someone that he didn't know very well, especially someone who only knew him as a violent crazy person, Rick figured he was damn lucky she didn't just up and shoot him.

"Oh great. I've got a comedian here.” Denise found some saline solution and gently flushed out the debris from the cut. Rick watched her work with a strange sense of calm. 

"I believe that Deanna is in no shape to speak to the masses of people.” Denise jerked her head towards the large bay window where, once Rick looked up and out, he could see the citizens of Alexandria milling around not unlike the walkers they were so terrified of.  "But, Rick Grimes, I think that you are. Well, you  _ will _ be once I stitch this bad boy up.”

"That sounds unpleasant.”

"Well I could always cut it off." Denise smiled tightly. Rick got the impression that she didn't care for him very much and he supposed he couldn't blame her. “But I don't think I'm quite prepared for that. I'll stick with too many Band-Aids and some slightly crooked stitches.”

Her stitches weren't that crooked. Once the skin was clean, it was a simple matter of Rick gritting his teeth   and refusing a painkiller. Rick did accept the antibiotic just to be safe. They hadn’t had the chance to do too many experiments on what the blood from a dead person would do to a live person, and Rick wasn't exactly looking forward to being the first to figure it out. Denise covered the stitches with some gauze and pulled away, staring hard at Rick with eyes that obviously searched for some answer to a question that he didn't exactly know quite how to ask.

The awkward silence was broken by Maggie tapping her fingers on the screen door. "Hey Rick I think you better say something.”

Rick sighed and nodded his thanks to Denise. "I reckon you're right. You heard from Glenn yet?”

Maggie blinked a few times and swallowed hard. Rick pulled her into a hug and his heart seemed to have switched places with his throat for a few seconds when she clung to him in return. 

"Now come on, girl. You know him better than that. There is no way that he won't fight with everything he has to get back to you.”

A few tears spilled over onto her cheeks but Maggie found a brave smile from somewhere and Rick almost hugged her again. 

Rick jogged down the few steps to the street and walked over to where everyone was milling round. He took a deep breath and cocked his head to the left, listening. The grunting and groaning of the herd of walkers that had surrounded the small community seemed very loud. The people of Alexandria were staring at the reinforced panel like it held all the answers to all the questions in the universe. 

“You can hear it. Some of you saw it.” Rick paused, making eye contact with a few people standing around him. Some of their stairs were terrified, some baleful, some downright pissed off. “They got back here, half of them. Still enough to surround us twenty deep. Look, I know you're scared. You haven't seen anything like this. You haven't been  _ through _ anything like this.”

Tobin joined the crowd, still holding his hammer.

“But we're safe for now.” Rick made it a point to make eye contact again. This time people looked less scared, more willing to listen. “The panel the truck hit seems intact. We reinforced it just in case. Either way, the wall's gonna hold together. Can you?”

Rick wanted to believe that they could. He knew that there were some really good people here. Some good people that would need to step up if they wanted to live, instead of hide away in this town like little kids afraid that found out the monsters under the bed really were real. 

“The others, they're gonna be back.”

“Oh they're gonna be back,” Rosita almost talked over Rick in her haste to back him up. Her belief and trust in Abraham was as bright as the heart she wore on her sleeve. 

Rick nodded.  “Daryl, Abraham, Sasha, they have vehicles. They're gonna lead 'em away, just like the others.” He felt the cadence and the momentum of his words rise with his convictions. Even after everything he’d done in the past week or so, the fact was that these people obviously needed him as much as Carl and Judith did, and for a lot of the same reasons. Rick knew that he had one chance to maintain control before things here went pear-shaped. Confidence in his people meant that he had little reason to worry. Maybe,  if he could share that confidence, the other townspeople would worry a little less.

Hell, it was worth a shot. 

“And Glenn and Nicholas are gonna walk back through the front gate after.” Rick caught Maggie’s gaze, trying to make sure that she of all people didn’t lose her hope. She stared at him, obviously taking strength from his words, and Rick was honored that after everything she had lost, she still believed in him enough to give him her trust. “They know what they're doing, and we know what we need to do. We keep noise to a minimum. Pull our blinds at night. Even better, keep the lights out. We'll try to make this place as quiet as a graveyard, see if they move on.” 

“This place  _ is _ a graveyard.” 

Rick didn’t recognize the dark-haired woman that spoke, but he made a mental note to talk to her later. The banging and growling continued, as though punctuating the pessimistic tone of the woman’s voice. He could actually  _ see  _ people losing what hope they’d gained from his little speech, and his shoulders slumped, brain frantically whirling for something else to say. 

To Rick’s surprise, Aaron stepped forward. 

“The quarry broke open and those walkers were heading this way. All of them. The plan that  _ Rick _ put into place stopped that from happening. He got half of them away.” 

Rick was floored. After the weirdness of the night that he and Jessie had kissed, Aaron had been downright cold towards him, as though Rick had done something so disappointing that he couldn’t even began to believe Rick’s stupidity. Rick admitted to some cowardice; he both wanted to know how he had fucked up, and never ever wanted to know what he’d done to fuck up. So, the fact that Aaron- the pillar of their community- was defending him now was both touching and a little worrisome.  

“I was out there recruiting with Daryl. I wanted to try to get into a cannery and scavenge, and Daryl wanted to keep looking for people. We did what I wanted and we wound up in a trap set by those people.” 

Rick fought to keep his face blank. The mention of Daryl; specifically,  _ Aaron _ mentioning Daryl made something very dark sit heavy in his gut. Rick didn’t much care for it. He licked his lips, a little discomforted by the strength of that feeling. 

“...and I lost my pack. They must've followed our tracks. Those people who attacked us they found their way back here... because of  _ me _ .”

Deanna made a small sound at Aaron’s shamefaced confession. To Rick’s surprise, instead of saying anything, she just turned and left. She walked towards her house, as though none of this was happening. 

Rick frowned a little. “There'll be more to talk about.” Aaron gave him a grateful look. “We can take a bit, reconvene. I need to catch up with---”

Tobin looked confused as he interrupted Rick’s words. “Deanna?”  She continued to ignore him.  “Deanna?” Tobin’s voice was bright with barely-contained panic.

It was in that second that Rick knew he had them, those milling, confused people. Not to trick, or to take something from them, not like he had so cockily assumed when he, Daryl, and Carol had spoken on the porch. No. He had them, like he had the rest of his people. As much as Rick appreciated Aaron taking one for him, he knew who was at fault here. It had been  _ his _ plan.  _ His _ fuckups.  _ His _ responsibility.  

Rick sighed a little shakily as he watched the assembled crowd stare after Deanna’s retreating back like lost little children.   He knew that it wouldn’t be easy. Protecting this place would be exhausting, and thankless, and probably heart-breaking in the long run. But he also knew that there was a helluva lot of work to be done to make sure things went smoothly- to make sure that they were here to live and to fight another day. 

  
It was time to begin.

 

 

(TBC!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I write so slowly. Thank you for sticking with me. <3


	20. And my Mind and My Gun (They Comfort Me)- Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 (part 2 of 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always , to FoxyK for the beta and love.

**Part II**

 

The problem with being, for all intents and purposes, in charge, meant that he really couldn’t get time off. Not that Rick particularly wanted time off, but it would be nice to just _exist_ for a while without the fate of everyone resting on his shoulders.  

Looking out at the sea of walkers that surrounded the small community, the feelings of guilt and shame threatened to overwhelm him.  The occasional bang of a rotting hand against the wall echoed weirdly through the night. He’d been so... confident. Even with the clusterfuck of a plan they’d had to push through, even with everything going wrong, even with not knowing if Glenn or Abraham or Rosita Or Da-

Rick sucked in a short, serrated breath. He clenched his fists, using the pain from the machete cut to ground him. Even with Denise’s careful stitching, it still stung. Rick told himself that the prickly hot feeling in his eyes and the sting in the back of his throat was from the pain in his hand.

Very carefully, he forced the thought of Daryl being bit, or dead out of his mind. He’d examine later just exactly why even the _thought_ hurt so badly. Much later, when all of this bullshit had worked itself out.

Somehow.

Even in the dark, Rick could see them moving, almost writhing together. It reminded Rick of seeing a dark shape out of the corner of his eye under the surface of the water when fishing with Shane out on Carter Lake- only now, there was no reason to look at anything out of the corner of his eye. Not when he could _smell_ them.  

Rick rested the palms of his hands on the rough wood of the scaffolding and breathed shallowly through his mouth. It was a trick that all of them had adopted as a necessity of living with the dead. Hell. Before they’d gotten to Alexandria, they’d even debated about it- the possibility of a sense of smell being generationally less and less important as the years wen--

The sound of a short scream, sharp in the quiet night like the crack of a gun caused Rick to whirl on the scaffolding tower, squinting into the darkness of the street.

Oh, shit.

 _Deanna_!

He slid down the steps so quickly that he rolled his ankle inside his boot. He pitched to the side, his weight unevenly distributed, then Rick caught his balance and began running as fast as he could towards the drama unfolding a few feet away. Deanna’s tiny form was on top of a walker, fruitlessly stabbing it in the chest, over and over.

Rick ran up to her as quickly as he could, shoving his knife through the eye and into the brain of the walker, having learned through cold, hard, experience the easiest way to kill the fresh ones. He gave Deanna a moment to compose herself. She wasn’t a child, but she reminded Rick of one; diminutive and shaking, staring at the walker she’d tried to kill with eyes so wide that Rick was momentarily afraid she’d pass out.

How the _fuck_ had these people _survived_ for so fucking long?! How was that even possible?  Rick’s tone, when he spoke, was harsher than he intended it to be. “Carol said she got one of them, but she couldn't find the body.’ Rick looked around, noticing the broken lattice over the bottom of someone’s porch. “He must have been under there.” He cocked his head to the side, trying to summon up something that wouldn’t sound condescending. “You did well, Deanna. Just remember. Always go for the head. It’s not pretty but it kills--”

“I want to live.” Deanna’s voice broke as she spoke, apropos of nothing. Deanna was still staring down at the man, covered in his blood and shaking like a leaf.

Rick felt his heart wrench in his chest. He could remember that exact moment after losing Lori when he wasn’t quite sure if he did want to keep going or not. He remembered feeling that for the first time, the visceral, shocking realization that he did _not_ want to die.

“I want this place to stay standing.” Deanna’s voice wobbled a bit but grew stronger as she spoke, as if the words themselves gave her strength.

“You need to lead them,” Rick said, as gently as he could.

Deanna laughed wryly. “They don't need me, Rick. What they need is _you_. What I wanted for this place, was it really just pie in the sky?” She looked at him then, hope strong on her elfin features. In that second, she wasn’t just a woman who had Rick kill the man who had murdered her husband, or the helpless woman who still didn’t know how to dispatch a walker even two years after the world turned to shit. Rick could see the Congresswoman who had been reelected; the woman who had kept people safe in a world of which she herself wasn’t a part.

Rick caught a glimpse of something on the wall nearest to them. He turned back to Deanna, answering her question as solidly as he could.  “No, Deanna. It ain’t pie in the sky. We’re gonna make this place happen, you and me.”

She took obvious comfort from his words, her shoulders squaring and spine straightening to her full, diminutive height. The banging from the walls seemed to echo her resolve with percussive adamance.

Rick frowned, awkwardly patting Deanna on the back of her shoulder. “I'll be right back.” She nodded in reply, staring down at the broken items she’d been carrying with a disgusted look on her face. She muttered something about Spencer, and ‘ridiculous’ before Rick was out of earshot.

In the dark, it was easy enough to assume he was seeing things. He knew that he’d done it before with less reason, but, as he walked closer to the wall (flinching a little as it moved when the dead banged on it) he could see that  the wall was... bleeding.

It was incongruent with the laws of nature-- something inanimate shouldn’t be bleeding-- but Rick couldn’t exactly throw stones about natural law when the dead were _walking_ . In fact, the dead were banging against the metal wall, the echo causing _other_ walkers to bang against the surface, drawn to sound like all of them were. They pressed against the metal surface, and like Lori’s old cookie press, their blood was forced through the smaller holes, making it look like the wall was, in fact, bleeding.

It made the hair on the back of his neck rise; the ghosts of the people they used to be dancing across a grave.  He reached out, palm hovering over the cold, corrugated metal of the wall. In his mind’s eye he could see the sea of walkers, could hear the groans and growls, smell the sharp-sweet scent of decay and rot. For a moment, and only a moment, Rick closed his eyes. He didn’t think that he could bring himself to pray, but he did take a moment to wish desperately that his people were okay.

“Rick?”

Deanna’s voice called Rick from wherever it was that his mind had gone, and he turned away from the walls deliberately putting his fanciful thoughts and momentary faithlessness aside. Shame was a dark heaviness in his stomach as Rick forced himself to set aside his ego. Abraham and Sasha; Daryl and Glenn were _fine_ and it was just arrogance that had Rick thinking otherwise.

“Walk with me?”

Rick nodded and reached out to take the basket from her. She was covered in blood from the walker attack, and Rick could see that she was bothered by the filth. She kept rubbing at the shirt she wore, and ducking her chin to wipe it on her shoulder.

“You did well there.”

Deanna stopped short and cocked her head. Even in the darkness, he could see the incredulous look on her face.

“You don’t need to patronize me, Rick Grimes.” She smirked a little and Rick ducked his head, feeling a lot like he did when his old principal caught him trying to skip class to go fool around with Lori. “Reg never got away with it, either.” Even in the darkness, Rick could see the unspeakable sadness break over Deanna’s features. He reacted without thinking; his hand closing around her shoulder in understanding and solidarity.

“I. I--” He couldn’t finish the words. Rick didn’t let himself think about Lori too much, but tonight everything seemed... real. “I am so fuckin’ _sorry_ , Deanna.”  Rick barely was able to speak past the lump in his throat.  He watched as her gaze turned shimmery with unshed tears, then locked with his. Rick didn’t know what expression was on his face, but after a few heartbeats, Deanna nodded and awkwardly pat his hand on her shoulder.

“You want to come in and talk? I think we’re a bit overdue, Rick.” Her not-quite smile was rueful, and Rick nodded. Things had happened so quickly, so many fuckups and heartbreak, that Rick hadn’t really gotten the chance to discuss the fate of the small community with Deanna. It might have been a bit overdue, and god knew it would be awkward as hell, but Rick was surprised by how much he wanted there to be an understanding between the two of them. Something. An agreement not to hate and oppose each other at the very least.

Rick took back his hand and scratched at his eyebrow, needing something to do with his hands. “I just need to get someone to cover my watch. Be back in a bit.”

Deanna nodded and took back the basket and its broken contents, jogging up her steps to the home she shared with Spencer. Habit had her flipping on the porch light before Rick heard her muttered ‘shit!’ and saw the light quickly shut off as she remembered the need for darkness. It made him grin for some reason.  

Rick turned and walked the few houses down towards where his people-- the people that weren’t outside the walls-- had bunked down for the night.  To his surprise, Gabriel was sitting on the porch. Rick saw the quick, muted flare of a lighter then smelled the sweet scent of some kind of tobacco. The former priest was smoking a pipe, the smoke a hazy, blue cloud around his head, just barely visible in the moonlight.

Gabriel inhaled again and leaned forward, knocking out the tobacco into the ashtray. He used the butt of the pipe to extinguish anything still burning, and carefully poured the unused tobacco into his pouch.

“You caught me.” Gabriel’s voice was subdued.

Rick held his tongue and tried not to be snarky. Of all the unholy activities this man had done, sneaking a smoke was probably the least likely to cause the man in front of him to slow roast in hell.  He waited a bit, thinking of how to respond, asGabriel obviously expected some kind of recrimination.

Rick shrugged. “Had a buddy of mine liked to smoke his pipe. Damndest thing- he’d drink the cheapest beer you could find, not eat anything more sophisticated than beanie weenies and hamburger mac, but that man would drop a hundred or more on pipe tobacco.”

“Well, we _are_ in Virginia.”

For some reason, Gabriel’s slightly prissy, wholly embarrassed comment made Rick snort a laugh under his breath. It was a little odd to be talking so genially with Gabriel Stokes of all people, but Rick figured that this was his night for overdue conversations.

“I guess you couldn’t sleep either?”

“Actually, I was on watch, and Deanna needed something.” At the mention of Deanna, Gabriel winced, obviously remembering what he’d said about Rick’s family to her. Rick watched the priest’s shoulders slump, but Gabriel didn’t try to hide his gaze from Rick’s direct stare. It was surprisingly brave, considering.  Rick cocked his head, thinking about what he was going to do for a split-second before he did it. “Actually, if you are going to be up for awhile, you can help me out.”

If Gabriel snapped to attention any quicker, he would have sprained something.  “I... I will be up for the night, actually. What do you need?”

“I could use you to take my watch while I finish talking with Deanna.”

The weight of what he was asking was... perhaps a small step in the grand scope of building trust, but Rick felt that he owed it to this man to give him the chance to establish that. He knew what it was like to feel like your fuckups were so vast that you’d never escape them. All Rick had to do was look at the way he’d been unable to keep Maggie’s family safe, or how quickly the prison fell to know _that_.

“Yes! Yes, of course.”

Gabriel hadn’t been on watch since the night Reg had died. He was obviously, _painfully_ desperate to mend fences with Rick, and Rick figured this would be as good of a chance as any. Sure beat waking anyone else up, anyway.

Rick nodded, and tried not to smirk at the overly-eager way Gabriel practically jumped up out of the porch chair and fumbled around for a rifle. The other man walked quickly towards the watch scaffold, and Rick watched him thoughtfully for a moment. He couldn’t say for sure that he fully _trusted_ Gabriel, but he appreciated the willingness not to be a complete waste of oxygen. Maybe trust would come in time.

Rick turned and walked back the few steps to Deanna’s home.  She was sitting on the porch, much like Gabriel had been. She had changed her shirt and was rubbing a cloth over her face rather briskly.

“Ugh, the smell. I had forgotten how horrid the _smell_ is.”

Rick raised an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression that you hadn’t...” He trailed off as she pat the porch step beside her, indicating that Rick should sit. The glass of scotch sat between them, with a second empty glass and the half-full bottle next to it. Rick sat down, ignoring the glass for now and stared out towards the walls. Gabriel was a shadow in a night of shadows, but Rick could just see him in the moonlight, and he felt glad that he had made that decision; rebuilding trust was just something he had to do. He needed people, and somewhere, probably buried fairly deep was the man who had chosen a life of servitude to others buried under the awkward, cowardly exterior.

“Killed them? No. Reg took care of that. He..” Her voice wobbled “Taught the boys, but they all decided that was a job for the menfolk.”

Rick couldn’t help the snort. Menfolk? Tell that to Maggie. Or Michonne. Or _Carol._

Deanna grinned outright at the look on Rick’s face. She poured two fingers of scotch in the glass, and Rick saw that she’d already put ice in it.  Shit. He hadn’t eaten in... awhile. If he drank that, he’d be on his ass in a minute.

Still... it wouldn’t hurt to be polite, given their history.

The first sip hit his throat like fire and Rick tried to mask the punch with a cough, that didn’t fool her one bit if her snort of amusement was any indication.  

For awhile, there was only the sounds of the night. Rick could hear the nightbugs, and the low groaning, hissing moans in the background of the hundreds of walkers that had surrounded their community.  Somewhere he thought he heard someone crying- perhaps through an open window. But that could have been a bird.

“Rick- I meant what I said. This place needs you.”

“I think it needs both of us.” Rick took another sip and savored the burn of the alcohol, swirling the ice around in the glass for a second contemplatively, before he took another sip.  “Leading-- wasn’t my first choice.”

“I find that hard to believe. You are a natural leader, Rick.”

“Now, maybe.”

Deanna took a drink of her scotch and nudged him with a small, bony shoulder. “Look around you, Rick Grimes. ‘Now’ is all there is.”

There didn’t seem to be much that Rick could say to that. She wasn’t wrong. No matter how much Rick wished that he could fix his past mistakes... well. There wasn’t any way to do that. Look at how he’d rolled in here, convinced that this community was going to be _theirs_. He’d been ready to take it over like some crazy dictator out of a history book, ready to kill anyone that got in their way.

And what had it gotten him?

 _Jack shit_.

Rick took another drink, holding the burning liquor in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

“You know, I really am sorry for Reg. I’m sorry for how that whole mess went down. I don’t know if you trust me yet or not--” Rick held up a hand to forestall her objection. “No, I get it. I came in here like a three-ton tornado of shit, and you were doin’ everything you could to not get the mess flung at you, but I want you to know that I’m fine being... well, _not_ the main guy here, but being your partner. I think that I can do some of the things that--”

“Rick. Stop.”

Rick did and they both sipped their drinks. Deanna finished hers, and poured a hefty tot into her glass.

“Losing Reg... inside these walls... It.” She stopped and took a large gulp, grimacing when she swallowed. “It was harder than I can say. Adien... he was out _there._ It was understandable, but god _damnit,_ this place was supposed to be _safe_!”

It was hard to hear her voice break. Rick felt a little like he himself had killed her husband, instead of her husband’s murderer.

“It was just so fast. So senseless. My beloved Reginald.” She held the glass up to her forehead and Rick found that he wanted to comfort her somehow, but before he could move, she straightened, drawing on the reserve of strength that had kept her going. “Still, we need to discuss a few things.”

Rick nodded. “We probably do. But... this is kind of nice. Just taking a minute like this.”  He finished his drink and leaned back, using his hands for balance as he looked up at the night sky.

Somewhere, Daryl, Glenn, Nick, Abraham, and Sasha were looking up at the same stars. He refused to believe differently. It was... comforting; a stable craft in a vast sea of uncomfortable thoughts.

Deanna reached out and patted Rick’s knee.  “Now come on. You have a big day tomorrow. I bet your people will make it back, and everything will finally settle down a bit, and then we can plan out our ideas for this place. You and me together, Rick.” She smiled encouragingly, then stood up, listing a little to the side as the scotch warred with her balance. She shook her head. “I’m turning into an old woman. Even a little bit of scotch is sending me on my ass.”

Rick was pretty sure it was actually about a fifth of scotch that she’d put away in the ten minutes he’d been sitting there, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. _His_ mamma didn’t raise no dummies.  

“I think I need to discuss a few things with my son before I go to bed.”

Something in her voice sounded a bit off, but Rick didn’t want to push. He finished his drink and scooped up her glass, stacking the empties and handing her the almost empty scotch bottle.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” He smiled a little and gave a little bo in her direction. With her standing on the topmost step, and him on the concrete sidewalk, they were almost the same height. She bobbed a curtsy in response, and it was so absolutely ridiculous that Rick found himself laughing outright.

“And on that note, I think I’ll head on in. Goodnight, Mr. Grimes. Sleep sweet, and we’ll handle tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Rick nodded. “Goodnight, Deanna, “ he said, still grinning a little drunkenly. He waited until she had gone inside before turning and walking back towards the scaffolding. Gabriel waved him off before he could even call out to the former priest, and Rick found himself walking the last few steps to his own house with a little more spring in his step; a bit more optimism than he’d had in what felt like _weeks_.

For the first time, in a very long time, Rick looked forward to what tomorrow would bring.

 

TBC!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, confession time. It has bugged the everloving _fuck_ out of me that in S6E09 (No Way Out) Rick just hands over Judith to Gabriel just as calm as a fuckin' cucumber. Just herpdederp, I have no reason to trust you, but here's my child. Peace out, bro. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Okay, maybe that scene happened slightly differently, but it had absolutely no consistency, because the last time we saw Rick and Gabriel prior to that, Rick was kind of pissily tearing off Father Gabriel's advertisements for churchin'. I always wondered of there was something missing that was cut; and that's a goddamn shame because Seth Gilliam is a _treasure_ and I'll not hear another word about it. 
> 
> And Deanna? *shrug* I just thought she needed a little more too. 
> 
> ... anyway, we all know what comes up next! ***excited wiggle* Thank you for still reading it!**


	21. And My Mind And My Gun (They Comfort Me) Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And My Mind And My Gun (They Comfort Me) Part III

  
  


Part III

* * *

 

“Come on. Come on, baby girl.” 

Rick watched as his daughter looked up at him, smiling a drooly, delighted smile at the sight of her dad.  He ignored the way his heart lurched into his throat when her bright blue gaze met his. Her nose wrinkled up at the sight of the viscera and putrid flesh that stained Jessie’s bed sheets in which Rick had draped himself, but she didn’t make a sound when Rick reached down to pick her up. She was calm when he walked down the short hallway, and gave a delighted wiggle when she saw her brother, reaching toward him with a little giggle. Carl met his eyes once before holding his sister to him in a hug that was just a little too tight. Carl kissed her forehead, and Rick slowly began to drape the cloth over her head. 

“Wait, dad. Just a sec.” 

He pulled up the sheet, and saw Carl fit what looked like two belts around his torso and Judith’s back and leg. It wasn’t ideal as a carrier, but if Carl needed both his arms, it would probably hold. At least give him a second to fight, if he needed to. Judith nestled trustingly against Carl’s chest, and Rick swallowed hard, closing his eyes. He allowed one second of absolute fucking terror to shake his bones before he blew out a short breath, opened his eyes, and draped the sheet over his daughter. 

Jessie looked like she wanted to say something, but Rick just shook his head.  

Carefully, he moved the couch and Rick walked through first, Carl a half a step behind him.  Someone made a low whimper of sound, but Rick couldn’t look to see who it was. They moved slowly, walking through the confused walkers that stood around Jessie’s living room like party guests that had worn out their welcome. 

Their dead flesh was cold as they occasionally bumped against him, and Rick forced himself to ignore the feeling of their dead-fish skin giving way, moving in a way that it shouldn’t be possible for skin to move. This was so much worse than walking through the herd in Atlanta with Glenn. Every step made Rick more and more conscious that Judith and Carl were only inches behind him. One sneeze, or cry would turn this nightmare into something uncontrollable. 

Slowly, they made their way out of the broken doorway, and Rick stopped on the porch, staring out at the once-peaceful community. 

Last night-  _ god, had it only been last night?! _ \- he’d stared down at what looked like hundreds and hundreds of walkers, five deep, surrounding their home. He had never seen a mega herd that large before- well, not one that was essentially knocking on their door. The walls were more than enough to handle their number. 

Rick blinked.

_ That  _ Alexandria was a memory. Two walkers near the infirmary fed on a woman who was still weakly struggling. They’d eaten part of her face and throat, and Rick fervently hoped she drowned before it went on much longer for her.   Aaron and Eric’s house looked overrun, as did the one Rosita, Abraham, Gabriel, Tara, Maggie, and Glenn shared. His own didn’t seem to be affected, as did the Needlemyers’. To his panicked eye there had to be two hundred slowly shuffling walkers between him and the other side of the street. 

Rick heard someone gasp behind him and turned. 

Carl met his gaze, unafraid and trusting in a way that he hadn’t seen from his boy in awhile. This was a Carl who had handled whatever immature shit had happened with him and Ron- Rick hadn’t missed the butt of the Glock he’d given Ron stuck in the waistband of Carl’s jeans. He didn’t believe that horsehsit story for a  _ second _ , and as soon as he had some time when ten things weren’t going wrong at once, he’d surely be discussing that entire incident with his eldest in  _ detail _ \- and fully believed in the man he thought Rick to be.  

Jessie met his gaze, absolutely terrified. Rick had a split-second of regret, and a wish for this to be easier on her. She was delicate in the same way that Deanna and the rest of them were delicate, untested and unused to the gruesome reality that they now lived with everyday. He could see her eyes filling with tears, and her bottom lip quivering. When she needed to be strong for her boys, she was falling apart. Maybe that was unfair given how different their circumstances had been, and some of that must have shown on his face because she straightened her shoulders and took two deep, calming breaths trying desperately to be what Ron and Sam needed.

Gabriel met his gaze stared out into the busy street of walkers solemnly, his lips moving in silent prayer. Rick didn’t believe in Gabriel’s god anymore, but he could appreciate the bravery the man showed as he drew strength from something familiar while immersed in a hellish baptism of the cold reality in which they all now lived. 

Michonne met his gaze with the banked anger he’d come to rely on. Rick didn’t miss how she’d taken up the rear of their little group, a physical embodiment of strength and steady competency. Her katana was unsheathed, and naked in her hand. She nodded once, a silent, ‘ready?’ and Rick’s lips twisted in something that wasn’t quite a smile, and wasn’t quite a smirk in response.  As always, her presence steadied him; lending him some of her strength when he needed it.

He turned away and looked out into the street.  Their armory was only at the end of the block,  but with all the walkers in the street, and given how slowly they’d have to move through them, Rick knew that anything could go wro--

The sound of gunshots split the air- one, then another, and another. The walkers milling around them surged forward at the sharp sounds, and without speaking Gabriel and Michonne each took a step to give them room to crowd into the house, following their instinct. 

A scream rent the air; the last act of defiance of a woman that insisted on meeting her death on her own terms. It ended abruptly on a painful-sounding gurgle. 

_ Deanna. _

Rick took a slow, shuddery breath. He didn’t have time to mourn; the goodbyes they’d already said would have to be enough for now.  He reached out and Carl’s hand clasped his, clammy with the feel of congealing blood. Out of the corner of his eye, Rick could see Carl’s hand grasping Jessie's’, who had a death grip on Sam’s small hand. In contrast, Ron seemed almost squeamish about holding his brother’s; the lackadaisical grip more for show than substance. On his other side Gabriel clutched at Ron’s wrist with one hand, his shaking fingers grabbing Michonne’s unburdened hand. 

Rick began to walk, slowly, aiming towards the armory. It reminded him of a gruesome game of Red Rover as they walked through the assembled walkers. Some were clumped up in packs, and some were alone as they walked. There were odd packets of completely walker-free areas, but Rick couldn’t see too many in front of him. Rick could barely force himself to look away from the milling dead, but he chanced a quick glance around him.  Carl’s face was tense with concentration. Jessie’s still looked terrified, but strangely, as though she found something funny and wanted to laugh. Ron looked as though he couldn’t quite believe that this was working, and Sam stared at the walkers around him with eyes wide in his too-pale face. Gabriel had broken out in a flop sweat, with little rivulets sliding off his head and onto his shoulders. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him, but moved where he was lead. Michonne, like Rick, was constantly on guard, eyes darting around as though expecting a catastrophe any minute.  Rick huffed out a breath and began walking again, taking them through the field Maggie had tied off for a garden (she’d be  _ pissed _ when she saw that they’d trampled her carrots), but turning and heading towards the gazebo when he saw that three of the community’s residents had become food to the snarling, slavering dead that surrounded them. 

He could see the dead walking on the other side of the small pond and frowned. They must have been in Jessie’s house longer than he thought, because it looked like there were at least four times the hundred or so Rick had been expecting. Rick took their ragtag bunch through a small copse of trees and paused, pulling them all in. 

They had found one of the pockets of inactivity and Rick spoke quickly, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. He knew how quickly the dead could turn on someone who showed their humanity, and speaking was certainly one of those triggers. 

“Alright, new plan. Flares from a few guns aren't enough. Too many walkers, too spread out.” Rick’s whisper caused them to lean closer, listening. “We're not going to the armory. We need our vehicles back at the quarry. All of us drive. We'll need to round 'em up. We leave, we come back.”

The words sounded simple, but given that dusk was approaching, Rick knew he was making it sound more simple than it really was. A simple trip to the store instead of a crazy jaunt into hell and back. 

Jessie grabbed his forearm in protest. “Okay. But Judith... to the quarry and back...?” She sounded doubtful, and for good reason. Rick bit his lip and met Carl’s gaze. He didn’t miss the way Carl held his body so that he was between safety and danger, protecting his baby sister and for a moment Rick was stymied by the vast array of things that could go wrong with his plan. His stomach lodged into his throat. What choice did they have? What fucking  _ plan _ was this that he was willing to take Judith in a car through the hordes of ---

“I... I'll take her. Keep her safe in my church until you all lead the walkers away.” Gabriel’s soft voice caused Rick’s slightly-hysterical inner monologue to halt abruptly, and Rick turned to size up the man in front of him. Gabriel stood with thim, his face still a little sweaty with nerves, but he was there. He’d helped when they’d needed them to, both last night and when the house was overrun. He’d not been confident, exactly, but he’d stuck with them.  That was saying a lot, given his behavior to this point. Rick had fully expected the man to take off towards his church before now, but he had stuck with them. Now, he was offering to put himself in danger to take--

“Can you do this?”

Gabriel straightened his shoulders. His mouth only trembled slightly when he spoke. “I'm supposed to. I have to.” He nodded.  “I will.” Gabriel’s lips twisted slightly in an almost-smile. “Besides.  ‘But Jesus called the children to him and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.’”

Carl coughed near him, and weirdly, some of the tension... well, it didn’t quite dissipate, but it lessened a little. Rick felt much less like Gabriel was offering him choice B in another plan that was doomed to fail. This seemed to be  _ right _ in a way that nothing else today had been. 

“All right.” Rick saw that a few of the herd had broken off and were slowly making their way towards the lowly whispered voices of their group. Judith whimpered once when Carl unhooked her from the makeshift harness, and handed her to Gabriel. Rick pulled up the sheet, and settled it again around his daughter’s body.  “ Shh, shh, shh,” he hushed, and Judith stopped fussing. Rick swallowed, unable to shake the feeling that he was giving his daughter away- that he would never see her sweet face again. Carl seemed to feel the same way if the hard look he gave Gabriel was any indication. Gabriel took a deep breath, and started to walk away from them. 

“Take Sam,” Jessie blurted, a little too loud. Michonne looked over Gabriel’s shoulder at the inquisitive walker and made a hissing sound under her breath.” 

“No.”

Sam and Jesise’s argument, for all that they were being as quiet as they could left a bad taste in Rick’s mouth. He couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding, and wanted his daughter free of these people and moving on her way before the walkers figured out that they were today’s blue plate special. Sam’s refusal to go with Gabriel, and Jessie’s unwillingness to see reason (Rick found that he both wanted Sam to go with Gabriel, and didn’t trust him around Judith- that the traumatized little boy would somehow cause something terrible to happen. 

Rick reached out and grasped Gabriel’s bicep, nodding once. 

Gabriel nodded back. “I'm going to keep her safe.” The words were whispered, but no less confident with acceptance and strength. Rick really believed him; he believed that this man would truly do everything to keep his innocent little girl safe from harm .” 

“Thank you.” Rick blinked hard, getting rid of the sharp bite of tears. He watched Gabriel slowly walk towards the walkers that had come to investigate, and  Rick held his breath as the former priest walked through them, praying to a god that he no longer believed in that they truly would be safe. 

“Hey. He's gonna make it. Okay?” Jessie clutched Rick’s forearm, and he stifled the urge to shake off her touch, his skin crawling with his own inadequacies. 

“I know it. Now come on. We have to get goin’ before the sun sets.” 

That was another problem. Dusk was quickly approaching. This would be a whole other level of clusterfuckery in the dark. Normally, walking to their cars would only take a mere ten minutes or so, but moving as slowly that they were forced to move and dodging the groups that were feeding on their neighbors would take longer than they probably had. 

Shit. 

Rick started walking slowly, clasped in almost the same order they’d been before. Sam was to his right, with Jessie holding her son’s hand. Carl was in between Jessie and Ron- he’d obviously seen the tension between Ron and his brother. Michonne was on the end again, and Rick was just as appreciative of her bringing up the rear. It was one less thing for him to worry about. Her katana was still out, as was his hatchet. They were ready for anything-- he knew that they’d need to be.

Rick didn’t think they’d be able to make it to the quarry tonight. It might be best to just hole up somewhere for the night. There was an empty house near the armory, and for a moment Rick hesitated, thinking. The armory was in the opposite direction from the gate, which seemed really goddamn stupid, now that he thought about it.  Still, if anyone else was making a stand, they were probably doing so from the armory. The likelihood that Rick would find some of his scattered people there was high. 

A walker, still with the noose it hung itself with hanging off its body, walked close enough to their group of people that the blood and muck-covered rope trailed  over the skin of Carl’s shoulder. Rick could see his son shudder, but that might have been from the skin that sloughed off onto Carl’s forearm. 

Rick heard a small sound and turned, towards Sam, shocked. Sam jerked his hand out of Rick’s, his lower lip trembling as he stared up at the walker, making another terrified whimper. 

“Sam?” Rick tried to keep his voice low, hyper aware of the number of walkers near them. “Sam,” he repeated, hissing a whisper.

Sam ignored him, huge tears welling up in his eyes. He started making a high-pitched wheezing sound, sucking in breaths for lungs that were too full. 

“Come on, come on. Sweetheart? Sam?” Jessie tried to calm him down, reaching towards him, trying to take his hand again. Sam was turning his head from left to right, looking from walker to walker to walker, the wheezing sound turning into more of a wail. 

Rick saw a walker, burned horrifically on one side of its face, maggots and worms crawling through some of the dead skin on its shoulder, snap its attention towards Sam.  The boy’s eyes widened. “You can do it. You can do it.” Sam shook his head no, tears rolling down his face. “Yes, you can. Sam.” Rick made his voice rigid, disciplinary. “Sam, come on. Come  _ on _ , Sam.” 

Jessie sounded terrified. “Sam. Sam?” Her voice rose as she watched the walkers shambling towards them. Sam had turned so that he was facing his mom and brother, eyes still fixed over their their heads as he watched something behind them, his back to some trees. It was obvious that he was keeping it together by the barest of margins. 

The sharp scent of urine filled the air.  Habit had Sam glancing down at his crotch, and oddly that was what made him start to cry, huge, gulping sobs that shook his small frame. 

Ron let go of Carl’s wrist and started pleading with his brother. “Sam... hey, you can do this.  Sam, just look at Mom”. 

“Honey, you can do it.”

Ron darted a quick look around them. The teenager sounded about three minutes from losing his shit completely. “Sam, you're gonna get--”

“Sam, honey, I need you to come with---” Jessie took a step forward. “I need you to come with me.”

“I...I want to. Mom, I want to.”

“I need you to be strong, baby. Now come on. One step.” 

“Sam--” Ron begged his brother, taking another step to the side. 

The snarling was their only clue, a split second of forewarning. 

“ _ Mom _ !” 

Rick watched, frozen and helpless, as the two walkers melted out of the trees, pulling the crying boy to them and bending immediately to feed. Sam shrieked,  trying to break away and reach for his mother who took her own step forward, instinct going towards her youngest son to help, to try to save him.  Sam’s hand fell. His shrieks went on, causing the hair on Rick’s arms to rise. 

There were so many around them now, going to Sam’s aid would be fruitless. He was dead from the first time he realized that the monsters were real. 

Jessie hadn’t stopped moving forward. She yanked Carl along behind her so hard that he stumbled, trying to keep his balance. He tried to pull away, but Jessie had too strong of a grip on him. Her other hand reached out towards Sam, straining to reach him. 

“Sam.” Jessie sounded absolutely lost as she watched her son twitch and kick, still screaming until thankfully, one of the walkers took out his throat. 

Rick looked at Carl’s terrified face, and realized what was about to happen. Jessie’s grip on Carl’s wrist was so tight that Carl tried to wince away, pulling hard and trying to free himself. “Jessie?” Carl sounded scared, his voice cracking with helpless fear. Rick didn’t think she even realized what she was doing. 

“No.” She watched as the two walkers fed, her voice heartbroken whisper of denial. 

“Jessie. Jessie. Come with us. Come on. We have to go.”

Rick made a small, hurt sound as the walker on the left turned on her. Jessie threw up her arm in a helpless gesture of protection, but the walker just ate the fleshy part under her elbow, gibbering and pulling her to it’s mouth.

Jessie’s scream rose almost exactly like her son’s. She still stared where Sam had been killed, as though not even noticing her own predicament. 

Rick shook his head, helpless in denial. If he went for them now in the middle of a herd like this, they had no exit. No way out. It was impossible. He was just as useless as Michonne and the two boys. Jessie’s grip on Carl tightened, and Carl went to one knee, landing on the ground with a wet squelch of sound. 

Rick saw  in his mind’s eye Jessie’s smiling face as she cut his hair. He didn’t remember exactly what she had said, but after the hellish trip north where they’d lost so much,  it had seemed surreal that cute blondes still did such things as check him out. 

“No.”  Rick’s whisper was just as broken as he felt as Jessie’s screaming, echoed through the night. The snarling, snapping sound of the walkers’ teeth made Rick’s stomach turn.  The hatchet was a dull weight in his hand, and Rick swung it in an almost lazy arc, instinct and muscle memory prodding him into action. The hatchet cut into the arm that still tethered Carl to her, causing fresh blood to fountain up as he hit the artery. 

Jessie’s screaming and sobbing continued. For a second, she made eye contact with Rick and the utter betrayal on her face was like a knife to the gut. 

Rick swung the hatchet again, barely conscious of anything other than the fear in Carl’s eyes as he tried to get back to his feet. Walkers were between him and Jessie now, and he was obviously afraid to move to abruptly, but just as afraid not to. 

Rick saw Jessie grinning at him at the party, a sweet tether to  _ normal _ . He saw her face after Pete had hit her, and the fear in her eyes as she tried to protect Rick by telling him to leave the garage. 

Rick swung the hatchet again. This time it went all the way through the bone and muscle, and what was left of Jessie fell back into the crowd of feeding walkers. He stood there like an idiot, watching them eat, unable to make himself look away. Their kiss had been so brief, and while they both had obviously realized that it had been more circumstance than connection, the small intimacy had been just as surreal as everything else. Part thank you, part friendship, part frustration, part sweetness. 

“Dad?” Rick jumped as Carl touched his shoulder. “Come  _ on _ .” 

Rick nodded, at this point not even surprised that his boy had the power to remain focused on their safety while he just stood there like an idiot. Rick could see the skin of Carl’s wrist already starting to bruise from where Jessie had gripped him so desperately. Rick jerked his gaze up to Michonne, whose look of  _ Move. Right. The Fuck. Now! _ was just as clear as if she’d hired a mariachi band and skywriters to make her point. 

Carl took a step towards Rick and Rick forcibly shook off his memories. He had to focus, or things were gonna go bad. Well, worse.  Still, it was a bit of a miracle that Carl and Michonne were both okay. 

The sound of a hammer on a gun clicking seemed strangely loud over the mass of snarling, growling walkers. Rick jerked his gaze from his son to Ron.

The trauma he’d just witnessed was obvious on the way the young man held the gun, hand shaking almost so badly that Rick thought that he might drop it. 

“You.  _ You _ .”

Rick brought his hands up on instinct, not sure what to say to make this better. Rick was responsible for the death of the boy’s entire family.  He knew this. Ron knew this. Now, whatever Ron and Carl had fought about in the house seemed to make a strange, sick sort of sense. 

Rick jumped forward, his instincts telling him that he could wrestle the gun from Ron’s untrained hands before he got off the shot. Carl turned so that he was between him and Ron,  in front of the gun, blocking Ron’s view of Rick. 

Later, he’d never be sure of what happened first.  The sharp crack of the gunshot as Rick ducked out of the way, heart hammering in his throat or the sweet  _ ziiing! _ of Michonne’s katana as she swung it through the air had both seemed to happen in a weird synchronization, singular sounds seeming born of the other. 

Rick knew that he would never, ever forget looking to Michonne standing over a bleeding Ron, the walkers still in their vicinity pushing him aside to get to the fresh meat.  His adrenaline had still been high as he stared at her, shocked at how close he’d come to eating a bullet. Then the terrible,  _ wrong _ , look on Michonne’s face as she stared at someone behind him registered just as he heard a broken, shocked--

“--Dad?”

Carl stood there for a moment, the moonlight not doing anything to hide the ravages of his young face.  Rick just blinked, shocked stupid at seeing the round, bleeding hole in his baby boy’s eye. Blood poured down his face, obscuring his features. Carl seemed frozen for a heartbeat before crumpling to the ground in front of them, like some broken toy that no one wanted any longer. 

  
Rick didn’t know if he shouted. He didn’t know if he screamed, or cursed, or cried.  One second he was staring at Carl on the ground, and in another he had Carl in his arms and was running behind a panting, desperate Michonne as she swung her katana back and forth, fighting to make a path through the milling walkers that blocked his path to the infirmary. 

Carl seemed so tiny in his arms as he ran, barely hearing his own keening cry as he dodged and weaved, almost forgetting to let Michonne clear the way for him as he ran faster and faster, his heart broken and bleeding inside of him, his lungs burning with their need for oxygen. 

The infirmary was dark in front of them as Michonne whirled to the side to let him pass, guarding his rear as he thundered up the steps, trying not to jostle Carl too much. 

If the door hadn’t opened, he would have kicked it down. 

Rick caught a brief glance of Denise and Aaron’s shocked faces as he shouldered them out of the way to set Carl gently on the bed. Carl had lost his hat somewhere, and he looked impossibly young as he lay there, skin waxy and pale. 

Rick pushed Carl’s hair out of his face with a shaking hand, only realizing that Denise had been asking him questions when Michonne answered them for him, explaining what had happened as quickly as she could. 

Rick’s legs went to jelly as he stared at Denise starting to work on Carl’s too-still form, barely registering the competent way Aaron assisted her, handing her gauze and water to clean the wound. 

_ This was on him. _

If Carl-- oh god,  _ died-- _ it would be all that Rick deserved. He’d murdered the only surgeon they’d had, the only person left who had been trained to do the delicate surgery that his boy needed right now.  Denise would try, and she would do her very best, but this was all because of Rick’s actions.  _ His _ decisions. 

Rick cringed away from the wreck of his son’s face, wishing that he could block out his own thoughts. 

“Rick?” 

Michonne’s shaking voice was gentle as she crouched down in front of him, blocking his view of Carl and forcing him to focus on her.  Rick could see the blood that covered her, and knew that the only reason that he and Carl had made it from the park to the infirmary was due to Michonne’s skill and stubborn refusal to give up. 

He couldn’t bear to have her touch him, to have her reach out in sympathy that he didn’t deserve. Rick knew that there was only one thing that he could do. 

He would take out every last fucking one of them. 

“Stay here,” he ground out, forcing himself to stand. 

“Rick?  _ Rick! _ What the--” 

Rick ducked around her, opening the door and running out into the dark night. His hatchet was still bloody from Jessie’s blood, but he would use it to fight them, to break all of them to pieces. He barely registered the sounds of hollering behind him as he launched himself at two walkers pulling themselves up the steps onto the porch. He made his way down the sidewalk to the street, his rage dredging up energy from somewhere. 

It was easy enough to use the sharp surface to break their skulls, fumbling with his other hand for his knife. Everything became very, very, simple.  His enemy was clear, and he knew exactly what he must do to make up for his utter, shameful cowardice.  Rick slashed and hacked his way to the end of the street as he fought every motherfucking one of them.  

Dimly he became aware of Michonne at his side, cursing under her breath at his stupidity as she swung her katana so gracefully that it almost seemed as though she was dancing, killing two or three for every one of his.  She was fearless, and so goddamn strong that Rick knew he shouldn’t need anyone else by his side. 

But he did. 

_ God _ , he did. 

Rick hadn’t seen Daryl in what felt like weeks, but knew that wherever he was, he would be fighting just as hard as Rick was now, unwilling to accept a reality that didn’t have his family in it. 

Rick refused to do anything less.  

He became aware that Michonne was muttering numbers under her breath, swinging and swinging as heads literally rolled. 

“Twenty-six! Twenty- _ seven! _ ” 

Rick hadn’t been counting, but he started now. 

“Thirty-two.” The hatchet made a dull  _ thunk _ sound as Rick buried it in the walker’s eye. 

“Oh bullshit! I’m doing two for every one of yours, you... goddamn... liar.” She grunted and they moved a little further away from the pile of dead bodies and blood, careful not to slip. They moved towards a street that still had what looked like hundreds of the herd, slowly moving towards them and away from the infirmary. 

“Twenty-nine!” 

“Thirty-three!” 

“Thirty. Thirty-one,  _ and _ thirty-two. Ha!” 

Rick saw Aaron, Heath and Spencer making their way towards them, with what looked like Eric and Olivia not too far behind, but couldn’t spare them any extra attention. 

Eric’s voice seemed almost betrayed as he ran up beside Rick and Michonne, awkward in his walking cast but holding what looked like a field knife as he drove it into the skull of the walker nearest to him. “Are you two  _ counting _ ?” 

No, not really. Rick knew that was just Michonne’s way of showing him that she wasn’t ever leaving, that he could count on her to stand by him when he needed it. 

Like coming out of the prison had somehow left that in doubt. 

“Less banter, more-  _ ha _ ! Shit, that’s six for me!” Aaron sounded gleeful as he started swinging the wickedly-sharp machete, the group of them making their way across the street to the wall on the other side of the small alley. 

Rick ignored the talking, focusing instead on making sure every swing of his hatchet and knife counted.  Time was endless. Some kills seemed like they were almost in slow motion, then Rick would blink and time would catch up again, a pile of the dead at his feet. 

He was so intent on not thinking of Carl, of how he could be dying scared and alone  _ right now _ because Rick wasn’t a fucking genius by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew what a goddamn  _ gunshot to the head _ meant, thankyouverymuch- that he missed the fact that Carol and Tara, Eugene, Morgan and Rosita had joined them. 

Somehow having all of them together, gave Rick strength he didn’t know he needed. They instinctively worked in small groups, one going high, then another going low, and one of them resting, then switching roles and continuing on and on. 

Eventually through, Rick realized that their luck was gonna run out.  There was just no tactical advantage to having the wall that they’d been so greedy for at their backs. Not when hundreds of walkers were advancing slowly on them, intent on feeding. Not when even with working in groups, they were getting tired, then exhausted, forcing painful, burning muscles to move to keep themselves safe. 

“Come on!  We work  _ together _ !” Rick’s shout gave his people another push of energy, feeding on the dregs of whatever they had left. “Don’t give up on Alexandria!” 

_ Don’t give up on  _ **_me_ ** _. _

But it was hard. The blood was everywhere, slippery and stagnant piles of drek that made it even more difficult to remain standing. There were so many bodies piled in front of and near them that Rick couldn’t even move forward without endangering himself.  

The soft  _ whummmmmp _ of the lake igniting pushed a soft blast of air into all of their faces, and the resultant press of heat and brightness of color screamed  _ fire _ . 

It was startling enough that Rick faltered in his swing, and the hatchet slipped in his bad hand. Aaron covered for him, shoving his machete into the walker’s eye, but Rick was too distracted to thank him, trying to stare at whatever the fuck was happening and not get his fool ass chomped on for his trouble. 

It took a few minutes, but wave after wave of walkers simply stopped and turned, drawn as always by the louder and more prevalent source of potential food. 

Rick’s exhausted arms fell to his side as the walkers in front of them turned as though they hadn’t even noticed the sweaty, live humans in front of them and staggered towards the small lake. 

For a second, Rick wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating...

... because it wasn’t possible that Daryl Dixon stood on the roof of a fuel trunk, holding what looked like some kind of  _ rocket launcher _ on his shoulder just as casually as you please. 

Rick shook his head, then used part of his forearm to rub his eyes, still not entirely sure that he hadn’t had some sort of mental break. 

“‘S too steep for ‘em to crawl out! Watch the pier though, and the rock by the gazebo!” 

Hearing Daryl’s shout gave Rick new life, allowing him to push the increasing panic about Carl aside. With the walkers heading towards the fire, it was easy enough to  go on the offensive, stabbing and taking them out without them even being aware that true death was behind them. 

They made it out of the alley, and heard Abraham’s shout of “Halt!” before he opened fire on the rest of them, bullets from the AK mowing through the leftover herd like hot knives through butter. 

Glenn hit the rooftop and Daryl jumped off. He drove the fuel truck to where the wall had caved in and parked it, blocking what he could of the space that the herd had come through. He’d almost made it out of the driver’s seat before Maggie had yanked open the door, laughing and crying and absolutely heedless of the one or two confused walkers that Enid took out, the look on her face strangely unreadable. 

Rick wanted to fall to his knees. He was so tired, so.... So much was wrong. He watched dumbly as Daryl made his way to him, taking out the burning walkers with bullets, obviously not keen on rehashing his experiences in Atlanta with the napalmed walkers. Abraham and Sahsa mopped up from the other side, and some of the Alexandrians cleaned up the last few of the herd that had managed to miss Abraham’s aim. 

“ _ Rick _ ?” 

Rick had too many things to say. He stared at Daryl, noting absently how filthy he was, and that he was bleeding down his arm, but unable to articulate his thoughts. He couldn’t decide which crime he should confess first. Carl? Jessie? Deanna? ... Ron and Sam? 

“Rick?” Daryl’s voice was as gentle as Rick had ever heard it, and the sound of what was unsaid caused Rick’s throat to tighten up so painfully that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to speak again. 

“Rick.” Daryl’s whisper was a bare breath of sound. With another three steps he reached Rick and in a flash his big hand had wrapped itself around the back of Rick’s neck, drawing their foreheads together. Daryl’s breath was hot, and stale, and Rick was so fucking  _ thankful _ that Daryl was here with him that he didn’t quite know how to show it. 

Rick shut his eyes, sagging for just a moment against Daryl, taking strength in the fact that his friend would always be there when he was needed. 

  
  
  


TBC!!

 

* * *

 

 

**A/N:**

Gather 'round boys and girls! I have a small story to tell. When I read this part in the comics, I absolutely  ** _lost my shit._** I am such a fan of Carl's character- I've told pretty much everyone far and wide that I'm fairly sure that this whole story is Carl's coming of age store, and the rest is just window dressing (in Rick's case a very attractive window dressing) to him learning how to live and survive and love. Now. Fast forward to this season in the tv show. It. Was. Perfect. My husband and I were watching and I was like "omgomgomg" and he clearly had no idea what kind of a sick asshole he married because he thought I was omg-ing because of Sam and Ron, but in reality I was freaking out because I knew they were going to take out Carl's eye and OH MY GOD I was so happy. Happy that it was perfect, although my husband stared at me like, "you _monster._ " for awhile. I've been waiting and waiting and fucking  _waiting_ to try my hand at writing this, and I hope that you enjoyed what I came up with. 

  
  
As for the rest of the story...?   
  
  


... Finally. The boys are back together for a bit. Time to resolve some of this stuff and thangs!

... and honestly, thank you so much for sticking with this wordmonster of mine. <3


	22. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 - Under Pressure

It was almost dawn by the time Daryl had finished mopping up the mess. Not literally mopping, although with all the blood splashed around the once-peaceful community, he might as well have.

Alexandria no longer looked like something out of  _ Better Homes and Gardens _ . Hell, it now looked more like the leftover carnage after a war movie, or something out of a Stephen King novel. Corpses were strewn across streets, yards, and fields like the furiously discarded toys of a pissed-off toddler. 

It had taken Abraham, Glenn, Sasha and Daryl  _ hours _ to organize the removal of the bodies- and Daryl wasn’t entirely sure that they’d even gotten them all. He had made a mental note to have Abraham help him clear the houses later. Abraham had insisted on laying the walkers out the same way and stabbing each and every one in the head before they were moved to a more suitable burial site. Maggie saw to sorting bodies, making sure that their people were put to the side, and the rest of the herd set aside for burning. There were hundreds of them. 

Aaron, Rosita and Eric had become the defacto wall organizers. They’d quickly gotten people on the wall detail- someone named Toby or Tobin had been on the construction crew- and had made the Zone’s safety their priority. 

The sun was high in the sky before Daryl took a breath. He’d found the constant, hard work of digging- the burn of muscles and sting of sweat a weird sort of comfort, and was surprised when Glenn had actually stopped him from digging graves and made him drink some water. 

“Hey man.” 

Daryl nodded absently, looking around, blinking as though he hadn’t seen his surroundings in awhile. About twenty people lay enshrouded to his left, covered and ready for burial. Gabriel was murmuring over the few that were catholic, and making the sign of the cross. Daryl watched as Gabriel hesitated, then started again from the opposite end, with the ones that he had apparently skipped over before. 

At Glenn’s inquiring look, Gabriel smiled a little sheepishly. “Just in case.” 

Glenn snorted. “Look, sorry to interrupt you, man, but... I think you need to go to the infirmary. Denise is supposed to... finish up with Carl in an hour or so.”

Daryl felt like he’d been punched. 

When they’d first gotten to Alexandria, and had finagled what Abraham was  _ still _ calling the ‘badass bbq’ he’d been so high on adrenaline that Daryl hadn’t really processed what was happening with Rick and the rest of his family. The blood and gore splattered his clothes and face said one thing, but the Rick that had collapsed against him was broken in a way that absolutely gutted Daryl. It was like before, after he had killed Pete, or even before after Lori had died. Those times had been bad, but this? 

Daryl hadn’t known what  _ this _ was. 

He also hadn’t seen Michonne stab Rick in the shoulder with the syringe, but Rick had gone from trembling, dry heaving something between a sob and a cry that just wouldn’t come out of his throat, to dead weight when he’d collapsed for real. Daryl had just barely caught him. 

His startled, “What the  _ fuck _ ?!” had caused Michonne to just shake her head. A strangely solemn Aaron and Eric had carried Rick towards the infirmary, and Daryl had been so petrified at the implications that he’d whirled into something to keep his mind off of whatif-whatif-what _ if _ \- for as long as he could.

Even so, the fact that Daryl had heard either hide or hair of neither Jude nor Carl made his gut clench with fear. He didn't think Rick would make it if one of his kids...

_ Shit _ . 

Daryl blinked up at Glenn, frowning. 

“Looks like you need to get stitched up too. I’m gonna herd up the rest of them. See you there, man.” 

Daryl grunted a response and heaved himself out of the grave, dusting everything off and throwing down his spade. His mouth tightened at the way the bodies were lined up. It seemed like a lot, and several of them were not adult-sized. He watched as Gabriel crouched down and muttered something under his breath, closing his eyes for a quick prayer. 

Daryl didn’t believe in God anymore, but he shut his eyes and breathed for a minute, trying to quiet his whirling thoughts. He didn’t care so much about the ones they’d lost. He hadn’t really known them, or fought with them. People died every damn day. But just the thought of Carl... or  _ Rick _ ... 

“Hey, Pookie.” 

Daryl’s eyes flew open at Carol’s voice, and he turned, opening his arms without even thinking about it. Her diminutive form felt right nestled next to his, and Daryl rested his chin on top of her hair. Carol made a small pain sound as his hand moved over her ribs, and Daryl pulled back with a frown. 

“Yeah. Bit sore. I’ll catch you up later. C’mon, we... probably don’t want to keep anyone waiting.” 

Well  _ that _ didn’t sound good. Maybe he  _ should _ have asked a few goddamn questions before riding out his exhaustion digging graves for people. Then maybe his brain would work. 

“Okay,” Daryl said, following Carol to the infirmary. They made a sad little processional by the time that everything was said and done. Tara, Abraham, Sasha and Eugene fell into step behind them, with Glenn and Maggie holding a fussy Judith. (Daryl ignored the way his heart both gave a leap of joy when she reached for him and fell to his stomach with terror- Jude was fine, but Carl? Where the fuck was  _ Carl? _ ) Gabriel walked near Maggie, making goofy faces at Judith, with Aaron, Eric, Olivia and Tobin huddled in a group behind them. Others followed, but Daryl didn’t know everyone’s name. He didn’t see Michonne or Rosita, and that Morgan dude was probably smoke in the wind by now, but it didn’t take long to see that there weren’t a whole helluva lot of people left. Enid sat on the porch, curled up as small as she could get. Daryl caught Maggie touching her shoulder out of the corner of his eye, Enid flinching away from the small touch. Whatever had happened here while Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham were off taking care of the herd had hit hard and very precisely on their little community. 

The infirmary had all of the blinds pulled. The wrap around porch was blood-stained, and someone had pushed a pile of walkers to the left side. Daryl saw evidence of Michonne- decapitated heads littered the ground like discarded trash. The numb feeling he’d been cultivating started to dissipate and he fought small, panicked breaths. Carol’s hand was cool on his, and she squeezed his fingers once before letting go, showing support and understanding with hardly any effort. 

“Excuse me,” Aaron said, low, zigzagging through the throng of people to the front. “I’ll see if she’s ready. You guys best wait here.” He jogged up the few steps and opened the door, shutting it behind him with a small click. It didn’t take long for it to open again, and Denise, and Michonne stepped out. Denise looked absolutely exhausted. She was wearing a t-shirt that was covered with blood- and she kept rubbing her hands on her jeans. Daryl doubted that she even realized that she was doing it. Michonne standing next to her looked as solemn as ever. She wasn’t wearing her katana or her gloves. Her braids were pulled back under a scarf, and she looked strangely fragile, like a stiff wind would blow her over. 

Denise cleared her throat nervously. “Thank you for your patience. I’m able to see to some of the less life-threatening injuries now.” She took a long breath. “Rick was sedated. After... his history, we thought it would be best if he was out of it given the gravity of.” Denise’s voice broke, and Daryl’s heart stopped in his chest. 

No.

“Rick has a few cuts, but no bites or anything indicative of a bite. He should wake up in a few hours or so.” Denise squared her shoulders and Daryl realized that Abraham was muttering ‘aw fuck.’ under his breath repeatedly, with as much trepidation as they all felt. 

“As for Carl.” She cleared her throat. “The bullet entered his skull--”

Maggie clutched Judith so hard that she bleated a squawk of complaint. 

“-- and I’m sorry, but.--”

Daryl felt his knees turn to jelly. He was gonna be fucking sick- right here, right in front of everyone and oh, god. Rick. How was Rick gonna--

“--He lost his right eye when bone fragments from the bullet ricocheted. The muscle was severed in several places, and I removed it so that we could try to repair some of the skin around it.” 

There wasn’t a sound from anyone on the ground around the infirmary. Daryl wasn’t sure that anyone even breathed. 

“He came through surgery quite well. There is some drainage, which is to be expected, but he.” Denise’s voice wavered and broke again. 

Michonne took over, patting Denise on the shoulder. “She did it. Carl is asleep, and we’ll keep him out of it for awhile. He was... so lucky. The bullet avoided his brain, but took out part of his skull and cheekbone. It will be touch and go, and we’ll just have to see how he-- well.” She swallowed hard, and Daryl remembered the bond they’d made over the long trip here from the prison. “We’ll just have to see. As for Rick- well. It was my decision to drug the shit out of him. Anyone that fought with him during the last part... well.” 

Daryl heard scattered murmurs and saw many of the people around him nodding. He felt numb, as though he wasn’t quite sure he believed what the women had said. 

Denise rallied, and spoke up. “Okay, if you had a minor injury or were asked to come back later, please go ahead and come on in. We have Carl and his dad moved to the top floor, so that’s off limits, and I have several other patients on the second, so if you could keep down the noi--”

Daryl took a step forward and collapsed, his legs giving out completely. He blinked up at Abraham from the ground, confused. 

Abraham looked down at him and reached out his hand. “Come on, old man. Let’s get you stitched up.” 

It was as though Abraham mentioning where he’d been stabbed made it throb dully, and while Daryl didn’t believe for a second that anyone in his family thought that he’d fainted over a little stick of some asshole’s knife, he was willing enough to let that be the reason he’d gotten a little woozy. It certainly wasn’t from relief that all of the Grimses’ were alive... if not exactly  _ okay _ .

“Okay everyone.” Maggie cleared her throat, her face flushing a little when everyone looked at her. “We have some priorities here. Tobin, you come with me. Let’s see what else needs to be done with the walls. We should to a perimeter walk to make sure none of those Wolves had any more surprises for us. Our defense, and safety, is the most important!” 

Daryl grunted when Abraham heaved him to his feet. The big man stared at Maggie almost fondly. “Listen to her. ‘Perimeter walk’. ‘Defense and safety the most important’” He mimed wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and sniffed wetly. “How quickly they grow up.” 

Maggie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling a little as she and a few others walked off. Glenn, Gabriel and Tara headed to the bodies to finish burial and the rest scattered. 

Daryl shook off Abraham and made it up the stairs under his own power, and Michonne looked him over once before walking towards Maggie and Tobin with some energy that she’d scrounged from god-knew-where. 

“Okay. You. Badass. Take off your shirt, and come on inside. You, come on, too. Just have a seat before you fall over.” 

Carol raised an eyebrow but sat down, wincing and holding her side. A little bemused, Daryl did as instructed, wincing a little when the dried blood from his wound pulled as he removed the shirt and vest. 

Denise whistled. “Damn, what did you do? It looks like it’s been pulled open. Here. Sit.” She pushed him onto a chair and Daryl looked around at the blood-soaked bandages on the ground. A lot of blood had stained the pillow on the bed at about eye level, and Daryl had to look away, nauseated. 

“Had to dig some graves.” 

“The kid here also slung a heavy ass rocket launcher onto his shoulder and crispy crittered about a hundred of those dead fucks.” Abraham sounded like a proud dad, boasting about his child’s accomplishments. Daryl didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was probably fifteen years older than the big man. As Abraham-ified nicknames went, Daryl knew that he could do worse than ‘kid’. “Alright, I’m needed elsewhere. You good here?”

“Yes.” Denise was already bending to look at the wound on Daryl’s back. It throbbed, and burned a little uncomfortably. “Rosita will be down in a few if you want to wait on her.” Denise turned and rummaged in a drawer for a needle and some sutures. 

Abraham shrugged, eyeballing the needle with obvious dislike. “Ah- er. I can wait outside. Let you work.” He beat a hasty retreat and Daryl would have laughed if he had the energy, although he did wonder what was up between the two of them. Usually they were all over each other. It was as though sitting still zapped all of the strength he’d had, and Daryl sagged in the chair. 

Denise tisked and muttered under her breath as she started to clean the wound. Daryl’s gaze met hers once, and he wanted to wince or apologize and tell her that he’d get it; that she shouldn’t trouble herself. She looked beyond exhausted, her face pale except for the bruises under her eyes. She also had a speck of blood in her eyebrow that Daryl was pretty sure if he stared at it much longer he would go rather noisily insane. Denise dabbed some iodine on him and Daryl used that as an excuse to look at the stairs, frowning a little. 

He looked over at Carol who had tilted her head back against the window and was resting, her mouth open a tiny bit as she breathed slowly and deeply. Not for the first time, Daryl wondered what the fuck he had missed when he’d hightailed it out of here, butthurt over Rick and Jessie kissing. Carol looked like she’d had the shit kicked out of her. The bloody mark on her forehead was a bit weird, but Daryl had seen enough of the dead people with the same mark that he could figure out why she’d done it. 

He hadn’t seen Jessie around, but there wasn’t much of a reason for him to. She was probably hold up with her kids somewhere, hiding until someone said it was safe to come out. Not that Daryl could blame her. Not really. He was trying not to be that much of an asshole, anyway. 

The needle went in and out of his skin, and Daryl grit his teeth.

He’d figured some shit out while he was out there, both during and after his adventure in the woods. Namely, enough was enough. This little crush that he’d been sporting was ridiculous, and Daryl had been acting the fool since he and Rick had kissed. He’d made shit awkward as all hell, and frankly, especially as recent events had more than illuminated, it was dangerous to let his personal shit reign supreme over the survival of him and his. 

This Negan thing wasn’t going to go away. Daryl didn’t think for a second that his first meeting in the woods or the fight over the fuel truck would go unnoticed, not with as organized as they had all seemed. A rival group meant that they’d be knocking on the gates of Alexandria soon enough, and Daryl knew that they best beat feet to get ready. 

He felt Denise pull at the edges of his wound with the thread and shifted on the chair with a little wince. She huffed an impatient breath and used some saline and gauze to clean the blood that had trickled down his back. “All right, then. You can go get some sleep, if you can make it up the stairs without falling on your face.” Daryl heard Carol snort (so much for her actually sleeping) and it was like the small sound roused the dregs of his stubborn energy. He found himself on his feet, using the back of the chair to heave himself to his feet. 

“Did you give me somethin’?”

“For a few stitches? Come on.” Denise cracked her neck and stifled a yawn. “You’ll have to find a bed where you can find one. Like I said, we’re pretty full up.”

“Anyone bit?”

Denise flinched. Michonne pushed off the counter and gently helped Carol over towards Denise. Carol was just exhausted enough to let her, which told Daryl all he needed to know about how hurt she actually was. 

“No,” Denise answered quietly, meeting Daryl’s gaze steadily. “Michonne and Rosita said that it would be best to triage anyone bitten, so that they’re not by the sick. Anyone with something life-threatening is in a room with a locked door, and one of the things that Deanna insisted upon was having cameras in the room. I guess early on there was an incident and Pete---” Denise broke off, biting her lip. “But. Uh. No. We have two people with them as a guard, just in case.” 

Rosita came down the stairs and put what looked like a pasta dish full of bloody rags to the side. She sighed and pushed her hair back. “I think that’s it. I’m going to help you finish up these last few, then I can take watch while you get some sleep.” She seemed at home, and Daryl all at once remembered that she’d spent a lot of time here after Eugene had brought Tara back. As far as nurses went, Denise could do worse. 

Daryl felt his eyelids getting heavier and sat up straighter, trying to ignore his exhaustion. “Alright. You guys come get me if you need anything. And I mean... anything.” 

“We got it, Daryl. Go get some sleep.” Rosita shooed him off, then came over and helped Carol ease up her shirt. Daryl blinked at the bruising that was long her back and sides, then narrowed his eyes. Whoever had fought with her, he hoped that they weren’t still around, or...

Or what. He’d snore on them? 

Daryl shook his head at his foolishness and pulled himself to the second floor. He could see nine doors, with a set of stairs at the other end of the long hallway. The second floor’s setup was a little different than all of the other townhouses; and Daryl wondered if they’d halved the rooms in order to accommodate more people. 

Reg had been a clever dude. 

The little tv screens were bolted onto small shelves outside each door, with a peep hole drilled into the middle of each door at about eye level. It was the first thing Daryl had seen in this fancy ass place- aside from the wall of course- that was fuckin’  _ smart. _ For an infirmary especially, they couldn’t be too careful. Not when anyone could die and come back. The locked doors would keep them contained, and if they lost power, the peep holes would still allow people to see in, yet provide some measure of privacy for the occupants.

He stared dully at the monitors, frowning at how many rooms were occupied. The fifth door didn’t have a peephole or a monitor, and Daryl stood staring at the tub for a few minutes. With a pillow, he could make it work. But goddamn, he really wanted a bed. A few weeks of living in Alexandria was really making him weak. 

Daryl bit off a yawn and started up to the third floor. Denise had said that both Rick and Carl were on the third floor. Separation from everyone else could either be for Carl and Rick’s sake, or for everyone else’s safety. It was hard to tell. The staircase opened up into a loft-type area obviously used for storage. There were shelves up to the ceiling, and rubbermaid containers full of everything from band-aids to oxycodone. Daryl blinked, a little stymied, remembering the pathetic first-aid they’d had to live with while on the road. How did no one steal this shit? How was it all still _here?_  

At the other end of the loft was a door. The oversized bedroom had also been split into two spaces, with the bathroom on the far left. 

Daryl pushed open the door in the first room, not content to just stare at the monitor. Carl looked very, very young, stretched out in the middle of the full-sized mattress. Daryl could see that blood-and iodine soaked bandages around most of the right side of his head. The left side showed one eye shut , with bruises under his eyelashes that were so dark that it looked like he’d been punched. Carl was extremely pale against the white sheets. Someone had put him in scrub bottoms, and one foot had kicked free of the blankets. A heartrate monitor beeped steadily, and Daryl looked at the numbers on the screen, trying to make sense of all the blips and boops. 

“God,” Daryl breathed, watching as Carl breathed steadily in and out. It occurred to him that he knew  _ what _ had happened to the kid, but not  _ how _ . He was here though, and that was something. 

That was everything. 

Daryl staggered for a second, and caught himself with a loud  _ thump _ against the wall. He felt dizzy and nauseous, and heartsick. He was alive, sure but at what cost. The eye was gone. That meant shitty depth perception, shitty aim... how was this kid, barely a teenager even, gonna make it? 

Carl didn’t twitch at the noise, and Daryl figured that he was under some sort of anesthesia. 

All at once, Daryl remembered helping teach Carl to shoot. At the prison, they’d hardly lacked for target practice, and behind a few gates it had been safe enough for the boy to learn to shoot right. Carl had begged and begged, and since Rick had been... occupied with the loss of Lori and Little A, Daryl didn’t much care for saying no. Back then he’d been determined, sighting with such concentration that the very tip of his tongue had poked out of his mouth, a sight that had forced Daryl to stare hard at his boots so that he wouldn’t laugh outright. 

Carl, even now, was nothing if not determined. As long as there wasn’t any kind of brain... damage, Daryl knew that anyone in his family would help and help, and  _ help _ until Carl could protect himself. 

Daryl pushed out of the room, and looked at the last monitor. 

He breathed out, his heart and his gut giving a funny sort of leap. 

Someone had nailed blackout curtains over the window, but left half of them undone, so that the only light was the late afternoon sunlight. In his sleep, or perhaps because of muscle memory, Rick was sleeping facing the wall on the left side of the bed, little spoon style. It was a favorite sleeping position of his, and Daryl didn’t know if it had started while he was married or not, but often when they’d all had to share two or three to a mattress, Rick slept like that, on the edge of the bed closest to the exit, so that if anything came through the door, he’d be in the best spot to defend the rest of the bed’s occupants. 

One hand was curled up in front of him, and the other was under his head. 

He didn’t move, or twitch. There were no monitors here, and Daryl wasn’t sure if it was quite right for him to crash in the bed like this, but he felt like he was literally being pulled forward towards the mattress. The tub would be cold and uncomfortable, but this was a  _ bed _ . It would be a tight squeeze with two grown men on a full-sized mattress, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t shared sleeping spaces before. 

Daryl shook his head, hard, trying to get the should-I, shouldn’t-Is out of his head. 

Someone had cleaned Rick up. He’ been covered in blood and gore, and now wore the same scrubs-as-jammies that his son did, although Daryl was pretty sure that Rick’s had little cartoon ducks with stethoscopes on them. Rick's hair had been washed, and had poofed out in his sleep so that it looked a little bit like dandelion fuzz in the weak sunlight. 

Daryl felt absolutely disgusting; sweaty, and filthy, and still smelling faintly of well-done walker. He was tried enough that he didn’t think that a shower would wake him up, especially if he used hot water. 

He was equally certain that Michonne would pop out of an air vent with her katana if he got his stitches wet though, so he stumbled into the hot water as carefully as he could, rotating so his shoulder was out of the direct spray. Dully, he watched the filth and blood slough off onto the bottom of the tub and down the drain. Someone used coconuts in their shampoo, and while Daryl didn’t much like smelling like a piña colada, he was too fucking tired to really give a shit.

He washed his shoulder as best he could, and it looked dry enough, and clean enough in the mirror, once he wiped off the steam. Stupidly, he stared at his naked body. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting on his filthy cargo pants to sleep in after finally being clean. 

He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door, only to jump halfway out of his damn skin when Michonne stood there, holding a bottle of water and a pair of boxers. 

Daryl glared, while she smirked. 

“You should crash. But drink this first, okay? Betting that your foolish ass hasn’t been hydrating.” Hearing Michonne’s whisper-shout was no less intimidating. Daryl looked over to where Rick lay, sleeping the sleep of the heavily drugged. He didn't twitch. 

Daryl, just to be a dick, dropped the towel and drank the water, then put the shorts on. Michonne just snorted and walked towards the windows, pulling the blackout curtains and left the room, shutting the door softly behind her. 

Daryl didn’t actually realize how thirsty he was until the water was gone. He set the empty bottle on the nightstand and switched off the light. The bed looked cool and inviting and Daryl wanted to cry with relief when he gingerly slid into bed next to Rick. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The blackout curtains weren’t perfect- they let in a tiny bit of sunlight around the edges of the fabric- but it was a gloomy, barely there light that was just slightly better than being in the dark. 

Daryl wiggled his toes, then stretched the arches of his feet, stretching the muscles in his calves and thighs and shoulders, back and finally neck. His back popped in three places and it felt so good he almost grunted. The pull of his stitches was less than pleasant, and the yawn that cracked his jaw lasted almost a full minute, but he was more relaxed than he had been in ages. When he opened his eyes, the bones of Rick’s spine were mostly visible, even in the faint light in the room, and Daryl frowned, remembering the many skipped meals that Rick had given to just about everyone else during their long trek here. 

Rick breaths were even, and he slept peacefully, his body giving off an almost palpable heat. Daryl found himself inching closer, just a tiny bit, then even closer, until Rick’s body heat was an almost tangible thing. Daryl’s breath disturbed the riotous poof of Rick’s hair, and for a second, Daryl entertained the fantasy of laying his arm around Rick’s waist and cuddling up, big spoon to Rick’s little spoon. 

Daryl smiled a little to himself, staring at the scars on Rick’s back in the dim light. 

So much for his resolutions. Not an hour later, and he was in bed with the man, so close that the coconut smell of Rick’s hair tickled the back of Daryl’s throat. 

He started to match his breaths to Rick’s deep, even huffs of air, but fell asleep before he could finish. 

 

* * *

 

Daryl woke up all at once, too hot, a little too sweaty, and needing to pee like crazy.

There was someone touching him. 

Daryl remembered that he’d left his knives in the bathroom, just as the person shifted even closer. Daryl recognized a split-second scent of coconut before his sleep-stupid mind cottoned onto the fact that it was  _ Rick _ next to him. Rick was on his side, one leg over Daryl’s. Rick’s face was in the curve of Daryl’s neck and shoulder, his breaths still deep and slow in slumber. Rick’s hand was low on Daryl’s stomach, the fingers barely touching the hem of his boxers. 

Daryl thought his fuckin’ heart was gonna pound out of his chest. 

It had to have been hours since he’d first stretched out in the bed. Daryl listened hard, expecting to hear noise from  _ somewhere _ but it was utterly silent, except for Rick’s breathing. The room still had a faint bit of light, but it came from a small nightlight plugged into the wall near the window. He’d gotten fixed up around... hell. Nine or maybe ten o'clock yesterday morning. Now it was full dark. 

They had kicked off the blanket, and Rick must have just turned towards the only other source of heat is all. It wasn’t intentional, and Rick would be humiliated to know that---

Daryl held his breath as the hand moved, sliding slowly up his chest and over his pecs and back down. He didn’t say anything. If he was dreaming- he didn’t want to wake up. If  _ Rick _ was dreaming- he sure as  _ shit _ didn’t want the other man to wake; once he realized what he was doing there’d be weeks and weeks of the same silent treatment or painfully awkward, stilted conversation.

The hand wandered back down, the nail grazing Daryl’s belly button, before slowly moving up, the fingers tangling in the sparse bit of chest hair. Daryl’s mouth was completely dry. His cock stirred in his boxers, twitching as it started to get hard. Rick’s hand tugged slightly, then slowly worked its way back down towards the line of his boxers. 

This was wrong. He should stop this. He shouldn’t be getting off to Rick touching him like this, not after what Rick had been through. Waking up next to each other was one thing, but Rick didn’t know what he was do--

Daryl made a low, punched out sound of shock when Rick’s hand cupped his dick. It was only then that he realized that Rick’s deep, even breathing from before had sped up, so that he was breathing humidly into the skin of Daryl’s shoulder. 

Rick waited a few seconds, and when Daryl didn’t outwardly react-- other than his cock becoming so hard he felt dizzy for a moment, despite the fact he was laying there completely passively on his back-- he started to move his hand, mapping out the length and thickness of Daryl’s cock where it pushed against the fabric of his shorts. 

Rick’s teeth scraped the knob of bone on Daryl’s shoulder, and he shuddered, helpless. 

“Sorry I woke you up.” Rick whispered into the skin of Daryl’s neck. “This... good?” 

If Daryl had the mental capabilities to roll his eyes without somehow injuring himself, he would have. As it was, he could only nod, once, sharply. Rick’s fingers were a little too tight around him now, and Daryl wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t having some sort of fever dream. 

Tentatively, Daryl brought his arm up to grasp Rick’s bicep. When nothing exploded, he moved his hand up the expanse of Rick’s arm, up and over his shoulder and down Rick’s back. Rick tilted his hips to press his own hardness into the side of Daryl’s thigh, and Daryl decided to go ahead and chance moving. 

He turned so that they were both facing each other on their sides. It was surreal, almost but not quite dreamlike, to be here with Rick, like this. The position allowed him to mimic Rick’s movements, and he took utter pleasure in the way Rick’s breath sped up when he slid his hand over the center of Rick’s chest, touching him exactly the same way that Rick had touched him. 

He could feel Rick’s crazy heartbeat, and the puff of his breath against Daryl’s chin was almost shockingly intimate. Daryl hadn’t been with that many people, and certainly not any men before, and echoing what Rick wanted seemed like a good bet. 

Rick’s hand on his cock moved slowly, and Daryl knew that he had to have been leaking some because the strokes felt wet, and sticky. When he wrapped his own hand around Rick, Rick shuddered and moved his head, awkwardly catching Daryl’s lips in the near dark. 

In the rain, their kiss had been desperation and anger and need. Back then, Daryl had expected to be punched for what he’d said, and with the lightning and the rain and the heat of Rick’s mouth on him, Daryl had thought that he would incinerate right there. 

This kiss was different. Curious. Tongues and lips touched softly, only to brush away. Daryl opened his mouth with a little moan, and Rick seemed to be waiting for that. Daryl winced when he was pushed backwards onto the mattress, but Rick was so intent on their kiss that he didn’t really notice. Rick followed so that he was on top of Daryl, kissing until they were both dizzy with lack of oxygen. When he moved, their cocks had bumped up against each other, still trapped behind the fabric they’d gone to sleep in. Still, it was like nothing Daryl had ever felt before. Rick must have felt the same, because his tugged on Daryl’s lip with his teeth, biting him when Daryl arched his neck in shock. 

Daryl reached around and slipped the palms of both hands down Rick’s slightly sweaty back, inching inside the scrub bottoms and grasping Rick’s ass. 

Rick kissed down the column of Daryl’s neck, licking and sucking marks into the skin. 

“Christ, you feel good.” 

Daryl wanted to nod, to talk, to say  _ something _ back, but he was too overwhelmed with the feel of Rick’s skin against his. Rick’s mouth on him. Rick’s cock pressed along side of his, impossibly hot and hard. 

Rick moved against him, arching rubbing their cocks together in a way that made Daryl’s mouth drop open in shock. Rick laughed, low, and did it again. 

Daryl flexed his fingers against Rick’s ass and thrust back, miming the act of fucking, the twist of his hips filthy and shocking and absolutely perfect. 

Maybe that’s why they didn’t hear the door open. 

Daryl only realized that someone else was there when Carol muttered a ‘aw,  _ shit _ !’ and backed out of the room, shutting the door with a thud that wasn’t quite a slam- but might as well have been.

It was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over him. Rick scrambled away, accidently kicking Daryl in the shin as he moved. Daryl blinked up at the ceiling. Rick shut the door of the bathroom, and Daryl heard a muffled thud, as though something had hit the surface of the counter. 

Carol wouldn’t have interrupted them if something hadn’t happened. Here he was, in the room right next to Rick’s  _ son _ and he had...  _ they _ had... 

The water turned on and Daryl pushed himself out of bed, turning on the lamp next to his side of the bed. He ducked away from the brightness, ignoring the way his cock bobbed as he walked over to the chair in the corner, where two sets of clothes had been left there, neatly folded. Embarrassment and shock had left him only half hard, and Daryl pulled on a pair of khakis with little injury. 

He sighed as he scooped up Rick’s clothes, then walked over to the bathroom. Daryl knocked then opened the door. Rick met his gaze in the mirror, and the look on his face made Daryl want to give him a goddamn hug or something. 

“Carl....”

Daryl swallowed hard. “I know, man. Here. Get dressed. Carol’s probably waiting for you outside.” 

Rick nodded slowly, turning towards Daryl and taking the small bundle of clothes from him. “I don’t want you to think... I mean, I didn’t mean...” 

Daryl shrugged, smirking a little. “I don’t think anything.” He turned to leave, to give Rick some privacy. “You gotta take care of yours, first. We can talk about that--- later. If you want.” 

Rick’s eyes narrowed, and to Daryl’s surprise, he took a step forward, cupping Daryl’s cheek and bringing their lips together in a very brief, but filthy kiss. “Oh, I want. But you’re right. It’s gonna have to be later.” 

Daryl licked his lips and hated himself for loving the way Rick’s eyes darkened at the small movement. Rick shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. It wasn’t a good time. 

But Jesus _ fuck _ could that man kiss. 

Daryl ducked into his shirt and turned to look at the bed. He was afraid that he was smiling a little stupidly, but managed to wipe it off his face when Rick came out of the bathroom. Rick nodded to him and made his way outside of the bedroom. Daryl had to pee, so he went to take care of that and splash some water on his face. It was bad enough that he was caught by Carol of all people, but he’d be damned if he was gonna face her pixie, smirking face with bedhead. 

Daryl flushed and washed his hands, grabbing his weapons and sheathing them at his lower back, his waist, and hiding the penknife in his boot. 

He opened the door softly, not sure of who he’d disturb. It was dark in the hallway, but Carl’s door was open. Daryl rotated his shoulder, wrinkling his nose at the way his stitches pulled as he walked the few feet. 

“---starved for human touch!”

Carol sounded no less furious for all that she was hissing her displeasure, hand on her hips as she glared up at Rick. He was standing with his back to the door, so Daryl couldn’t see his face. Daryl ducked back, confused as to Carol’s anger. 

“No I--”

“You cannot use him. Not  _ him, _ Rick Grimes. You need to scratch an itch, you don’t do that shit with family.” 

Rick sputtered, and Daryl thought his heart would choke him. Use him? Rick? 

“I know that you’re lost, Rick. I was there. I saw how she died, Rick. I saw what you had to do to save Carl.” Michonne’s low voice made Daryl’s eyes widen. “And what you get up to with Daryl is your own business, and I won’t say anything else after this, but Carol’s right. Don’t you  _ dare _ fuck around with that boy’s heart. Not after what--”

Daryl actually took two steps back before what they’d said had registered. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and all of the sudden felt too exposed. He turned and went back into the bedroom next to Carl’s, shutting the door quietly behind him. He stood there, staring at nothing in particular with his back against the door. 

It was too much to process at once. 

Carol and Michonne thought Rick was using him? That was fucking ridiculous. Rick wasn’t a user. If anything, he went out of his way to hel--. Daryl froze, then started gnawing nervously at a hangnail.  

_ ‘I saw how she died, Rick.’  _ For someone who had been liplocked with Rick not too long ago (And Daryl didn’t give a shit how jealous that sounded, even in his own head. He  _ was _ jealous.) it was pretty damn telling that Jessie was nowhere around. ‘ _ I saw what you had to do to save Carl.’  _ Maybe the reason that Daryl hadn’t seen her or her boys was. . . well it was pretty obvious now that the wasn’t too tired to actually think about it.  Wherever they were, the Anderson family wasn’t here. 

Carol was a bulldog, protecting him. Michonne usually had Rick’s back, like Carol had his. The fact that the two of them had been united in this, had both agreed on the fact that Rick was, what had Carol said? Scratching an itch? 

Daryl scrubbed his hand over his face. 

Did it matter? 

Did he really give a shit if Rick was. . . well. If Rick was using him to get off? Sex was sex, right? 

Daryl lightly thudded the back of his head against the closed door as he thought.  It came down to: did Daryl care  _ why _ Rick was with him? Rick had said they’d talk later, so maybe Daryl, and by extension Carol and Michonne weren’t giving him the benefit of the doubt.  True, Rick was very clearly had a track record of straight relationships. Lori, and Jessie- both female. Having his hand down Daryl’s pants could be him experimenting. 

Daryl never much cared what sex his partner was. Oh, sure, everyone liked to stuff you in a box with a nicely typed-out label on it, but ‘bisexual’ didn’t quite ring right with him. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and Daryl winced.  Here he was having some kind of gay existential crisis and Rick was in there with his fuckin’  _ kid. _

How messed up and selfish was that?

Daryl opened the door and saw Carol there. Her lips were set in a solid line, and Daryl didn’t know if she was hurt or just pissed off. She held the door open, and stepped back so that he could proceed her into the room. Daryl hung back, not wanting to intrude. 

Carl looked no less small with Rick in the room. He was very pale, with the sheets pulled up under his arms. Bandages completely covered his wound, and the top of his head, but the bandages had been changed since the last time Daryl saw him. Rick sat hunched over on the right side of the bed, holding his son’s hand in his.  

Daryl felt like the worst sort of voyeur for listening in, but he couldn’t seem to step away. 

“I was wrong, Carl. I thought after living behind these walls for so long that... maybe they couldn't learn. But today... I saw what they could do, what  _ we _ could do, if we work together. We'll rebuild the walls. We'll expand the walls. There will be more. There's gotta be more.” His voice shook and he dropped Carl’s hand, hitching a deep breath that sounded like he was two seconds away from bawling. Daryl’s throat hurt, and he found himself looking at Carl’s too-still face. There wasn’t much of the scared little boy that Daryl had met in Atlanta there. Even on Herschel’s farm, after Otis had shot him, Carl had looked incredibly small. Toy-like even. Daryl could see the scar over his nose that he’d gotten somewhere after the prison. Rick’s halting voice began to speak again, so softly that Daryl had to strain to hear him.

“Everything Deanna was talking about... is possible. It's all possible. I see that now. When I was out there... with them... when it was over... when I knew we had this place again... I had this feeling. It took me a while to remember what it was... because I haven't felt it since before I woke up in that hospital bed.” He broke down then crying, not taking any notice of the tears that were sliding from his eyes. “I.  _ God, _ Carl. I want to show you the new world.  I want to make it a reality for  _ you _ . For your sister. Please, Carlbear. ... let me show you. Plea-- please, son. Don't die. Don’t leave us alone.” 

Daryl heard someone, maybe Carol, maybe Maggie, suck in a sharp, serrated breath. 

Rick might have mentioned God, but this was no prayer. This was an entreaty, a desperate plea to Carl, for his son to  _ fight _ . Denise was competent enough, and circumstances had to give Carl enough of a fighting chance, but Daryl understood that Rick was begging Carl not to give up. Carl had been shot before, for fuck’s sake, and he’d come through that because of people that refused to give up on him. This would be no different.

Rick sniffed, and wiped his face with the hand that wasn’t resting on top of Carl’s. It took him a second to get ahold of himself, but when Carl’s hand twitched, then curled around Rick’s, Daryl thought that the look on Rick’s face was everything.  

Carl’s eyelid fluttered open, and he blinked as he adjusted to the scant light in the room. His fingers immediately laced with his father’s, and Daryl bit his lip at Carl’s shaky, “Dad?” 

Rick’s face crumpled like a small child’s, and he fell forward so that his forehead was on Carl’s sternum. 

Daryl felt like his own legs had turned to water, and he took a step back out of the room. His heart gave a little flutter when he saw Carl miss his dad’s head the first time he tried to put his hand there, his depth perception completely off.  Daryl shut the door, allowing them their privacy as they both mourned for Carl’s loss and exalted in the fact that they both still had each other.

  
“Everything okay?” 

Daryl had been so focused that he missed the fact that their family was crowded into the small hallway like sardines in a tin can. Michonne held Judith, and Maggie stood there leaning against Glenn. Enid was a thin, solemn shadow, almost out of the room. Abraham took up more space than any one man probably should, but had the softest look on his face that Daryl had ever seen. Rosita and Eugene leaned against a shelf in the loft, and Gabriel stood praying softly opposite them. Tara and Sasha stood like bookends, both leaning against the wall on either side and staring at the floor.  Carol stood next to Michonne, and her eyes were wet as Michonne handed over Judith. Judith made a muffled whimper. 

Belatedly Daryl realized that Michonne had asked him a question. 

“Uh-” his voice cracked, and Daryl had to blink tears out of his eyes. “Shit,” he muttered, and someone snorted. “Looks like they’re good. Gave ‘em some privacy.” 

Carol shifted a whimpering Judith to her other hip. She opened her mouth, but Denise’s soft voice interrupted her. “With both of them up, I can really use the room.”  She smiled wanly and waited a few seconds before knocking on the door and walking inside. “Daryl, you stay. Rick might need some help. Everyone else, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, get the fuck out of my infirmary.” 

Daryl heard people shuffling their feet as they trooped downstairs, but his attention was caught by Rick, who had sat up and was wiping the tears from his face. He smiled through his tears, and it was such a sweet smile, hopeful and relieved and just so fond that Daryl wasn't entirely sure his answering smile wasn't completely goofy. He didn’t miss Carl’s gaze go from him, to his dad, and back to him through, and wiped the relieved grin off of his face. He was just happy Carl was okay was all. Ain’t no call to be thinking anything different. 

Denise tapped his elbow and Daryl realized that he was blocking the door. He moved to his left and she walked in, stopping on the opposite side of Carl’s bed. “Okay! This is a little sooner than I'd like, but I need these beds for other patients, so your dad and Tall, Dark, and Stoic over here are going to help you home.”

“But. . .” Rick frowned. When Rick frowned, everything on his face frowned. His eyelids dropped. Lines bracketed his frowning mouth. His shoulders drooped and curled in. A little wrinkle, that Daryl happened to know MIchonne had dubbed ‘The Wrinkle of Disapproval’ appeared, making Rick’s face look careworn in the dim light. 

Denise quirked a smile, but continued to address Carl. “I know, you’re shaky. You’ve got a day and a half of rest under your belt, but you’re going to need to start going back to normal activities. I want to see you once a day to check your stitches and the wound for infection, and I have this, for pain and this just to be safe since you were covered with the blood sheet, and I just really want to watch for contaminants. . . “ She handed two bottles to Rick who took them, a little bemused. “But overall, Carl, you are a tough little dude. You might have some headaches, and eye strain while your other eye starts to adjust to doing all your sight, but yeah.”  She bent over and held out her hand to Carl, who gingerly took it and allowed her to help him out of bed. 

Rick jolted, almost like he’d been stuck with a sharp pin, and moved to Carl’s other side, looping his arm around the teenager’s waist. Denise turned away as Rick started helping Carl out of the room and feeling a bit out of place, Daryl stepped back to let them through.  

“It’s okay, Dad. I got it.” 

Rick’s forehead crinkled even more, and he stepped back slightly with obvious reluctance. Carl immediately stumbled, and his muffled, “ _ fuck _ !” made Daryl’s lips twitch for some reason. 

“On second thought, Dad, maybe you better help me with the stairs, especially, before I fall and take out my other eye. Then I’d be in a world of shit, right?” 

Rick didn’t say anything as he stepped back into place, but the look on his face was absolutely destroyed.  They made it out into the hallway, and Daryl started to follow, until Denise caught up his elbow and tugged so that she could talk to him in a low whisper. 

“He’s gonna need to be pushed.  Scarring, disfigurement, depression. . . Him being  up and with his family is the best. Watch out for any breaks in speech, or anything to that effect; so far there’s no signs of brain damage, but trauma can be tricky.” She shifted her weight, and frowned after Carl and Rick, her face plainly worried instead of cheerfully optimistic.  “It would probably be best if it’s not Rick that changes his bandages, so you or someone else come with him during clinic hours tomorrow. Now, I’m sorry, but I do have to go.”

She did look sorry, and Daryl found himself tapping her shoulder to get her attention. “Hey. You did good. Thank you.” 

“Oh.” Denise blinked rapidly, and Daryl was horrified for a moment that she’d burst into exhausted tears right there in front of him. “Uh, no problem. I can check your stitches in a few days, but keep them clean and dry. You know the drill.” 

Daryl nodded. He did indeed know the drill. “All right.” He turned to go, noting that Rick and Carl had made it down the second flight of stairs already. He caught up with them by the kitchen, and saw that Carl was walking by himself, more or less, with an extremely anxious Rick hovering next to him.  Carl was wearing Rick’s shirt, and it was a little too big on him. Rick had obviously cut the neck so that his son could get it over his head without mishap. It was dark, but people had lights burning into the night as they worked on the wall, and Daryl figured they could all see well enough. It wasn’t all that far to Rick’s house, anyway. 

“-- work to do. Oh hey, Daryl.” 

“Heya, kid.” 

Daryl followed as they walked down the path and up the steps to their home. Carl moved gingerly, but he was  _ moving _ and Daryl found that he was very, very grateful. Light spilled out of the windows of their home, and Daryl could see people moving around inside, obviously getting ready to sit down to a late dinner. It was a tradition that Maggie insisted on, now that they had regular food and a roof again. After being separated from Glenn and with all the uncertainty of the past few days, Daryl knew that she took comfort in having her people around her, and he wondered if that was Hershel’s influence or just Maggie’s big heart.

Carl opened the door. He stepped inside, and softly called out. “Hey. Is that mac and cheese I smell?” Daryl heard an almost pregnant moment of shock before the uproar hit. He smiled a little as their strange little family closed ranks, with even Abraham poking his head out of his window of the other house to see what the fuss was, then him, Rosita, Eugene, Sasha, and Gabriel clattering down the steps and up theirs into the living room. 

Daryl sighed, and pat his pockets for a cigarette, not quite up for all the revelry and noise. He sat down on the porch, and looked out at the still war-torn community. In the dark, Daryl could see the ghostly shapes of the herd lying around where they’d been left and sighed. 

“I feel ya.” 

Daryl looked up at Tara, surprised. Unasked she sat down near him, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the moon.  “What time’s it?” 

“Late. Or early, depending. About midnight.” Her voice was subdued as she looked around the few streets they could see from the bottom of the porch stairs From inside someone was teasing Carl about his appetite. 

Daryl inhaled, and nodded, not really all that inclined to talk. Tara seemed to understand that, content enough to just sit in silence. 

Now that Carl was up and about, Daryl couldn’t help but think of what happened earlier. Less than an hour ago. Seemed longer, somehow. He didn’t want to be in the way of Rick and Carl and everyone celebrating, but he knew that Carol wouldn’t let him mope too long. The look on her face when she’d gotten him had made it obvious that she knew that she’d been overheard, and Daryl blew out smoke, wanting to roll his eyes. Once everything calmed down, Carol would push at him to talk, and he knew Michonne would push Rick to talk, and Jesus _ fuck _ all that sounded absolutely exhausting. 

Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as he was making. Cocks, orgasms, clean up, maybe a fuckin’ nap. . . all that sounded pretty damn good without all the stupid feelings ‘n’ shit cluttering up all the good stuff. Oh sure, Daryl knew that was in a little over his head. There was lots of stuff he figured a couple of guys did together that was pretty goddamn far outside his realm of experience, but he and Rick could figure it out. Or find a goddamn book. Phone a friend. Whatever. What they’d almost finished had felt so fucking  _ good _ that Daryl knew they had at least something there. If Rick wanted to fuck, then Daryl wasn’t gonna say no. He’d take what he could get and be happy for it. 

The truth of the matter was, Rick was gonna need to settle down sooner or later. He’d looked for that with Jessie, and it hadn’t worked out. Rick wanted normal, and would find it eventually. Daryl knew this wasn’t some love story or some shit like that. Rick would do what he needed to do to make himself happy- once they got comfortable enough; once everyone was safe. 

And if he was a little too. . . into this? Daryl sighed again and sensed Tara looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Merle would have called this a ‘goddamn schoolgirl crush’, and Daryl knew his brother wouldn’t have been wrong.  Rick had been such a huge figure in Daryl’s life, was such a good friend, was someone he counted on that some of this was probably to be expected. 

Daryl knew his heart was a little too tied up in what was happening. But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it become a problem, and Rick would never fuckin’  _ know _ , so there wasn’t an issue. 

“Hey. Maggie made extra. You mind maybe taking a plate to Denise? To thank her?” 

Hearing Rick’s voice made Daryl almost choke on the cigarette smoke, and he  _ really _ must have been in his own little world not to notice the man come up behind them like that. Rick held out a covered bowl to Tara whose entire face had lit up like she just found out that Santa was coming. 

“Oh! Yeah, that’s a good idea. I bet she’s uh. Hungry.” Tara grinned again and tried to fist bump Rick, almost managing to drop the dish. 

Rick managed to keep a straight face. “Go on now. ‘Fore it gets cold.” 

Tara turned and walked quickly back towards the infirmary, whistling faintly.  Rick sat down in her spot, mimicking her position by resting his weight back on his hands. 

“You okay?” Daryl blurted it before he could stop himself, mortified at how stupid it sounded. 

“Me? I’m good. Well, not. . . good, exactly. But more right than I have any goddamn right to be.” 

Daryl didn’t know what to say to that. He inhaled again, blowing the smoke away from Rick. It hung there in the darkness, a blue-grey ghost of his breath for anyone to see. 

“Carol and ‘Michonne. . . “  Rick rubbed his eyebrow with a wince. “They think-” 

“I know. I heard.” Daryl flicked some ash onto the concrete. “Ain’t none of their business, really. Ain’t nobody’s business but ours.” 

Rick was silent for a moment- just long enough for Daryl to echo what he said in his head, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing.  

“That’s true enough. I just didn’t want you to think--” 

“No. I’m a grown man. Think I can figure out what I want for myself.” 

Rick shifted slightly so that his pinkie brushed against Daryl’s thigh. The touch was innocent enough, but it made Daryl freeze for a heartbeat before he moved his leg away. He felt too exposed out here, too raw from  the past few hours, too much like every eye was on them. 

Rick stood up, clearing his throat. Daryl tossed the cig, absently noticing that it hit a puddle of not all the way tacky blood with a  _ ssst! _ , but most of his attention was on the man in front of him. Rick’s position put his cock at almost Daryl’s eye level, and as Daryl looked up, shocked and a little turned on, he saw Rick staring down at him with an eyebrow raised. The motion was deliberate, and Daryl found that he couldn’t keep his gaze from the denim-covered bulge in front of him. 

“Now probably ain’t the time to finish what we started, but don’t you worry. I’ll find you later. Come on in, get some grub, and rest up. We got a lot to do to get this place how we need it.” 

Daryl stood up slowly, feeling a little lightheaded. Maybe from the nicotine, maybe from hunger. Maybe from Rick’s little display in front of him like that. He didn’t really care. Rick started walking up to the house, and Daryl followed as he had always followed this man, heart beating a little too heavily and Rick’s  _ ‘but I’ll find you later _ ’ ringing over and over in his ears.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This is the rest of 6x09 and I played fast and loose with some of the canon. At the end of this ep, Rick is crying over Carl, but honestly I couldn’t see that happening right after. I mean, surgery and cleanup and god, everything else that had to happen had one of those ‘we only have 45 minutes they probably won’t notice if we cut it!’ moments, but yeah. I changed it. Sorry, continuity and timelines are a thing the show often ignores and I'm like LOOK AT ME FIXING THE THING. As for the rest of it- please don’t kill me. Mind the tags, trust me and I promise to make it better. :)
> 
> **HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TWEEDO! <3 <3**


	23. Nothing Hurts (Like Your Mouth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12. Nothing Hurts (Like Your Mouth)

Rick knew that he had done some scary things in his lifetime. Things that required a certain amount of bravery. Hutzpah. Stone-cold, solid brass balls.

This was worse than all of those.

“Jesus Christ, what did you _eat?_ ”

Rick tried not to gag and folded the diaper as small as he could get it, making sure that the baby wipes didn’t poke out. Holding it like a bomb about to explode, Rick tossed it into the trash can, closing the lid with a little sigh of relief.

Judith grinned up at him with a drooly,  smile. She was teething again, and was up to five little teeth already. Judith kicked a leg, and babbled something very earnestly. Rick tickled her a little, put another diaper back on, and buttoned up the onesie that she slept in. It was still dark, and it was pretty clear that Judith had no interest in going back to bed.

Rick hitched her up on his hip and walked downstairs, moving quietly but not sneaking. He knew that with everyone's hair-trigger reactions, anything that sounded like someone being too quiet would like as not, end up with a katana up Rick’s ass. The clock said 3:30.

Unbelievable.

At roughly this time yesterday, Rick and all the people of Alexandria had been fighting for everything important to them. Now, Rick held one of those things, and was so incredibly grateful for their success.

He warmed up some formula, and added a little cereal to it since Carol wasn’t around to frown at him over it. She said it caused babies to get gas, but Carl hadn’t died from he and Lori doing it, and it worked pretty damn well on Judith, so Rick was gonna stick with what he knew.

Judith tugged on his ear and made gurgling sound, and Rick kissed her forehead absently, taking the bottle over to a rocking chair that lived near one of the bay windows. The blinds were up, and the moon was bright, and Rick situated them both in the rocker with a little sigh. He liked that he could look out without anyone seeing or commenting. Judith smelled sweet, like baby powder, and she was a warm weight in his arms as she plucked the bottle out of his hand and started drinking it. He knew that it was time to start thinking of potty training and drinking from cups, not to mention normal toddler things. Judith had had to be quiet when she should have been learning to speak, be still when she should have been learning to explore the world around her. Rick had a lot of regrets, but he knew that the fact that he wasn’t always able to spend as much time with Judith as she deserved was his biggest of them all.

Rick rocked the chair and stared out into the still night. The wall workers had stopped working awhile ago, before he went on up to bed, when Tobin had sent everyone to bed with a gruff, “We’re safe enough tonight. We posted guards, and can pick back up with it in the morning.” Surprisingly, Carol had followed him home, a move that had caused more than one pair of raised eyebrows, and Daryl’s not-very-muffled, ‘Get it, girl.’”

Judith burped and made a sleepy sound. Rick shifted his grip, reaching for the throw blanket on the coffee table. He deposited the empty bottle and settled them back in the rocking chair, this time with Judith halfway asleep on his chest.

Carl was different. He’d had Lori for all of his formative years, and Rick could see her in him in a thousand different ways, everyday. Carl could have gone a different way. Suffering what he had to; doing what he had to do, it could have gone bad. And yeah, it almost had. Carl had come a lot closer to flirting with darkness than he’d ever wish for his boy.

But now?

How much more difficult would this already too hard life be for a boy- almost a man, but just a boy- especially for someone with Carl’s injury? Carl hadn’t done much more than sleep, and quietly eat a very late dinner before going back to sleep, but Rick knew that they were far from out of the woods yet. Infection was a very real danger; just as lethal and unexpected as the walkers.

The floorboard creaked, and Rick looked up to see Glenn materialize out of the shadows. “Hey, asshole.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “If her first word is ‘asshole’, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Glenn snorted and flopped down on the couch. “Like you can kick my ass, old man.” He looked at Judith and grinned a little at the way she was drooling on Rick’s shirt. “Damn, she’s getting big.”

Rick shut his eyes, and rocked, and sat in comfortable silence with Glenn. About ten minutes later, Maggie showed up wearing one of Glenn’s shirts and showing a whole lotta leg, but the way she curled up onto the couch with her husband made Rick smile softly to himself. Glenn made room for her without having to think about it, moving so that his hand rested protectively on her hip.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just. . . y'know.”

Rick frowned, concerned. “What’s that mean? You don’t have the flu do you?” Disease was something that they’d all worried about, being around rotting and diseased flesh all the time. Botulism from bad canned food was something that Rick worried about. They were okay for now, but sooner or later, all the canned stuff would be expired.

Maggie smiled. “Sort of. I’m told it will be done in about nine months. Well, sevenish months, now.”

Rick stopped rocking, staring gobsmacked at the pleased little grin on Maggie’s face, and the mile-wide, frankly ridiculous, utterly goofy looking grin on Glenn’s. Rick’s lips twitched and he began rocking again, slowly. They were all quiet for several minutes. Finally, Rick spoke. “You sure you don’t want to practice?” He jerked his chin towards the sleepy Judith, passed out on his chest.

Glenn opened one eye. “You hold your baby girl, and I’ll hold mine.”

Maggie snorted. Rick had to look away while they kissed. They were so in love, so in sync with each other, he couldn’t imagine anything separating them from one another. The three of them (it was fair enough to say that Judith was completely oblivious.) heard the sound of the fridge opening, and the beeps and _whirr_ of the microwave. Rick’s breath caught at the sight of Daryl- who padded out in a pair of jeans and an old t shirt, and handed the warmed up mac and cheese from their dinner to Maggie. Maggie made a ‘yum!’ sound and sat up to eat.

“So what’s the plan?”

Rick tried very hard not to react to the gravelly sound of Daryl’s voice, especially after everything that had happened. Or hadn’t happened, as it were. He kissed Judith’s head again, but knew that his cheeks had heated from remembering the little stunt he’d pulled in the bedroom.

After he had collapsed in Daryl’s arms, he had been semi-conscious when Michonne and Rosita had cleaned him up. He’d begged them for news of Carl, and he remembered crying and something sharp in his arm then nothing. He woke up and opened his eyes and Daryl was there, asleep beside him and there was such a calmness, a respite from terror and worry in that bed, in that quiet, still, dark room that Rick had just. . . touched.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d miss touching someone. The slice on his hand had stung a bit, so he had flipped onto his side to use his other hand, and had started innocently enough- checking the top of the wound on Daryl’s shoulder, then moving down, over his arm.

Daryl had made a little sound in his sleep, and Rick had started thinking about how when he’d needed Daryl to be bait, riding at the head of the biggest herd of walkers that any of them had ever seen, he’d done it, despite everything. He’d remembered Daryl being there whenever he’d needed him most, and remembered the flashes of him he’d seen in the shower and by then he realized that Daryl was wide awake, and his touch had stopped being innocent awhile ago, and even more shocking, Daryl hadn’t punched him and it had been so. . . so strange, and perfect, and Daryl had smelled so goddamn _good_. . .

And then Carol had interrupted them.

Rick had never felt so disgusted with himself in his life. He had almost literally wanted to vomit as he stood there in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Not because of what he and Daryl had shared, but because he had forgotten about his son. He’d been selfish, and god, Carl was hurting, and alone somewhere, and _shot in the motherfucking head_ and here he was with a dick harder than a rock, trying to memorize the inside of Daryl Dixon’s mouth with his tongue.

Hearing both Carol and Michonne gang up on him was just as shocking, but not undeserved. He hadn’t intended to, but he _had_ used Daryl in a way. Not in the way they had both assumed, but still, he’d gotten caught up in himself.

He always seemed to get caught up in himself. Still, he couldn’t fix it right now.

He sighed, and tuned back into the conversation between Daryl, Maggie and Glenn. Maggie waited a beat before answering Daryl’s question, apparently hungry enough not to care that she was talking with her mouth full. The equally disgusted and entranced look on Glenn’s face as he stared at his wife was kind of hilarious.

“The walls are good enough for tonight, but not nearly good enough for some of the long term.”

Rick realized that his family didn't know who had died. Their dinner had been lighthearted. It had been about Carl; relief and joy that he was still with them. Not about sad topics.

“Deanna is gone.” Rick cleared his throat. “So is Jessie, Sam, and. . . and Ron.” Rick tried to speak past the sudden blockage in his throat. “She had. Jessie. Jessie had Carl's hand and she was screaming when Sam was bit and she wouldn't let- she. She wouldn't let go.” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his heart was beating. “I cut off her arm.”

“I cut her down and Ron shot my boy and. . . I guess I went a little. . . out of it.”

He could feel Daryl shift next to him from his seat in the coffee table. “Michonne said you went off by yourself. Fighting. She was busy with Denise and Carl and didn't have your back.”

Rick nodded. “Jude's out. I'm gonna put her down.” He knew he was running away, but he’d become aware that his hands were shaking a little. He felt. . . off, like his lungs weren't working as well as they should and he was struggling with catching his breath. Rick walked quickly to Judith’s room and tucked her in. He almost ran into Maggie on his way out.

She just walked right into his arms and Rick clung a little, trying to keep the tightness in his throat from turning into tears. She wrapped her arms around his waist and wouldn’t let him go.

“You look at me. Right now. You look right here.” Maggie wouldn’t let him duck his head, cupping both cheeks with her hands and forcing eye contact. Rick tried to pull away, but found that not only would Maggie not let him, he really didn’t want to. He sighed shakily, and pulled the courage from somewhere to meet her gaze. Maggie’s voice was no less intense for all that she spoke in a whisper, and Rick found that by focusing on her, on the face that he’d come to know so well, he was able to slowly start to regulate his breathing. The tightness in his throat and chest relaxed enough that he could draw in a deep breath. That calmed him down more than anything else, and he relaxed slowly.

As soon as Maggie could tell that Rick was calm, she let him go with a sweet smile. He looked back over his shoulder to check that Judith was still sleeping peacefully, and followed Maggie back to the living room. Daryl and Glenn had obviously been talking, but Rick couldn’t bring himself to care if it was about him or not. Maggie grabbed an orange and sat down near her husband. Rick couldn’t even began to decipher the look on Daryl’s face.

“Glenn and me had an idea.”

Rick looked up at him, concentrating on his breathing.

“While I was out there I ran into a group of really bad dudes. Met some people who said that this Negan character thinks he’s king shit of turd mountain.” Daryl’s voice sounded very careful, and Rick realized for the first time that he must have had quite an experience outside the walls. He wanted to know everything, but also didn’t want Daryl to stop talking. “Do you remember the night we were coming in, before we found the dogs?”

Rick scrunched his forehead in thought, trying to remember. A lot of those nights were just repeated instances of abject misery, and Rick had been focused on their safety. “No..?”

“Abe was off by himself, and I needed a smoke. We had just found that pond, and had eaten some fish, and he mentioned that it woulda been nice if we could find one of of the National Guard Armories.”

Rick sat back in the chair, listening.

Glenn spoke up. “Enid said that everything around here was cleaned out, unless you go into DC. I think that group is the reason why.” He rolled his eyes. “Andrea and Shane had both wanted to go to Fort Benning, remember? Makes sense, but everyone and their mother would have had the same idea. But you figure that they’d managed to enact some form of martial law before it all went to shit. Man the exodus in this area must have been crazy. They had time to plan from what the news was reporting.”

“I wonder why DC isn’t clean?” Maggie sounded full and sleepy, and like she was about minutes away from falling asleep.

“Well, once everything started looking bad, they bombed the big cities right? I remember after Atlanta, they did Manhattan, DC, LA, Chicago, New Orleans, hell. . . all the major metropolis areas. They tried to take out as much of the infected as they could, as quickly as they could before it got too bad. In Atlanta, I woulda been toast if I hadn’t been visiting friends in Macon.” Glenn reached out his hand and Maggie kissed his knuckles. “You remember, right? He looked over at Daryl.

“Naw. We saw it, but weren’t in it. Merle and me lived out in the woods. Had an idea to find one of his old prepper buddies, but found your group instead.”

Glenn looked over at Rick. “What about you?”

Rick shrugged. “I was shot and spent, as best me and Morgan could figure, three weeks in a coma. I woke up in a hospital. After. Pretty far out from Atlanta. Hell, you know how lost I was. If not for you I wouldn’t have made it off Peachtree.” Rick knew that they’d all heard this story before, but somehow it was forgotten in the moment.

“We need to make sure our walls are strong, and that we have the supplies to dig in. Whatever that Negan guy is planning, you can bet your ass he knows we’re here now.” Maggie yawned and eyed the comforter that Rick had used for Judith.

Glenn obviously realized that his wife was about two minutes from snoozing out here on the uncomfortable couch, and stood, pulling her to her feet. “Yeah, that lake of fire probably was seen halfway to West Virginia.”  
  
“Saved our asses, though.” Rick tried a smile in Daryl’s direction, and was inordinately happy to see Daryl duck his head, obviously pleased.

“Well, we should probably have a family meeting tomorrow. Figure out what the heck we should do next. Right now though, I think I’m going to head on up, and take this beautiful woman with me.”

Maggie’s sleepy smile was so cute that, watching her and Glenn go upstairs, it didn’t immediately occur to Rick that he was alone with Daryl, with just about everyone they knew asleep until Daryl shifted uncomfortably in the chair, drawing Rick’s full attention.

“‘M sorry about Deanna. And. . . Jessie.”

Rick nodded. “Deanna was. . . rough. She got bit and we were all stuck in her house together.” He sighed. “She went out on her own terms though. Some small comfort there, but she was a strong woman.” He made a mental note to keep a look out for Spencer. The kid had gone from moderately sheltered to losing his entire family in a little over a fortnight. That would fuck anyone up, and Rick didn’t particularly want to deal with the fallout.

Daryl shifted forward. He paused, obviously thinking about something, and Rick knew what he was going to ask a heartbeat before the words came out of his mouth. “And Jessie?”

Rick couldn’t help the flinch. “That. . . that was also rough. Different reasons.”

Daryl nodded, looking down at his hands. Rick didn’t quite know what to say. The silence stretched through the almost pitch-dark room, loud enough to deafen. He felt gauche and weird, or like a teenager trying to get the nerve to ask their date out to the prom.

“I think I’m gonna check around outside, make sure everything’s good.” Daryl’s low voice had Rick nodding without really processing the fact that Daryl was looking for an escape. It wasn’t until Daryl was jogging down the outside porch steps, barely visible through the bay windows that Rick realized: he was a fucking _idiot_.

Rick jumped to his feet, grabbing his machete on auto-pilot as he followed Daryl out the door, making sure not to let it slam. He was only a minute behind Daryl, tops, but the other man was fast.. He moved comfortably through the body-strewn streets and down the street, with hardly a sound.

Rick knew he probably sounded like a herd of buffalo as he stumbled over a large branch, but he wanted to get to Daryl before he disappeared again. Rick heard a sound to his left, by one of the supply sheds and turned quickly, seeing the beacon of a flame in the dark night. Clouds had covered the moon, making everything just barely visible. The flame illuminated the line of Daryl’s jaw, Daryl’s neck, and part of his face, and Rick swallowed hard, hoping that he wasn’t about to make another huge mistake.

Rick didn’t give Daryl a chance to say anything. He walked right into Daryl’s space, batting the cigarette out of Daryl’s hands and stopping with barely a breath of air between their two bodies. Daryl had frozen against the shed wall, and Rick couldn’t help but grin a little in the darkness. All they needed was a rainstorm, and a barn, and they’d be right back where they were when they first kissed.

Not two hours ago on the porch outside, Daryl had been really damn clear.

_Ain’t none of their business, really. Ain’t nobody’s business but ours._

Daryl wanted this, but didn’t want anyone to know what they were doing. Rick couldn’t say that it was his favorite way to go about everything, but he for sure was sick of tiptoeing around what he wanted, and what he should do.

“Rick.. I. . . . .”

Rick actually covered Daryl’s mouth with his hand. “Shut up.” Daryl’s breath was humid against his palm, but Rick knew he had to talk before Daryl shut this down. “I can’t apologize for Jessie, because I’m not sorry. I’m sorry she’s dead, and I’m sorry that I had to kill her, but if it came down to her or Carl, well. . . “ Rick shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t want you thinkin’ that we had some big romance, or that I’m pining for her or some crazy shit like that.” Rick took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for the way I damn near molested you in your sleep, and I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish what we started.” Rick stopped.

Daryl raised his eyebrows, the ‘ ‘ _bout done?’_ as loud as if he’d used a megaphone.

Rick thought quickly, then leaned forward so that his words were right above Daryl’s ear. “I’ll follow your lead on this.” If Daryl wasn’t comfortable with everyone knowin’ then Rick certainly wasn’t going to push. “Now you gotta make a decision. You want me to get you off right here?”

Daryl sucked in a sharp breath.

“We can’t be loud, or someone would see. Hell, someone could be watchin’ us right, now.” Okay, that wasn’t exactly nice, but by the way Daryl’s breath picked up, he didn’t mind. “We can go back to my room. We’d still have to be quiet, but. . .” Rick nipped Daryl’s earlobe, grinning at the “ _fuck_ !” barely muffled behind the palm of his hand. “We’d have the bed.” He tugged lightly on Daryl’s earlobe, then let go. “Or. We go inside this shed, and I can do my best to finish what I star--- _oh!_ ”

While Rick was doing his best to make Daryl hard with just his voice and his words, Daryl wasted no time, reaching out to cup the outline of Rick’s cock through his jeans. With his other hand, behind him, Daryl unlatched the shed door and took a step back, pulling Rick after him. Rick cursed and crowded close,the door banging shut behind them.

Rick didn’t know if he kissed Daryl or if Daryl kissed him first, but he didn’t want to stop. Neither of them bothered with tentative, or gentle. Daryl’s lips were strong against his, and the scrape of Daryl’s facial hair against Rick’s stubble made Rick shiver. He was pretty sure their teeth clacked together once, but Daryl’s insistent mouth licked into his own with no hesitation, and Rick couldn’t keep up with everything: the slide of their tongues, the heavy breath, the dizzy feeling of not enough oxygen and of being utterly overwhelmed by Daryl Dixon. As much as Rick might have instigated this kiss, Daryl took control of it smoothly, shifting them so that _Rick_ ’s back thudded against the wall of the shed. Something metal clanked off a shelf and knocked over something on the floor. Daryl broke off the kiss to snort a laugh, and Rick sucked in breath, opening his eyes and staring blindly into the darkness. His cock, after being hard twice already tonight pressed uncomfortably against his jeans, the zipper cold against his heated flesh. Rick could feel Daryl’s hand on him through the denim his fingers pressing against the shaft and up over the head, and was half afraid that he’d come in his jeans if Daryl kept it up. His own hands had migrated to Daryl’s shoulders, and without thinking much about it, he tugged so that their mouths were closer, kissing Daryl a little too desperately.

Everything he’d been so worried about took a backseat to this. Rick was selfish, pushing all their troubles aside as he pushed Daryl’s vest off his shoulders, unbuttoning the shirt with fingers that were too big and clumsy for simple tasks. Daryl scraped his teeth along Rick’s jaw and he moaned low, uncaring of who heard the noise. Daryl squeezed and rubbed at his cock in response, his tongue sliding against Rick’s before sucking on it. Daryl nipped at Daryl’s lower lip, kissed his jawline up to his ear. Rick’s cock twitched and he could feel precome spreading against the denim at Daryl’s low, “Get your fuckin hands on me, man.”

Rick broke one of the buttons, but managed to get Daryl’s shirt open, rubbing his hands up Daryl’s tight stomach, over his chest and pecs, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. Daryl’s small nipples were tight, and without thinking much about it, Rick leaned forward, wanting to taste. Daryl grunted as Rick sucked on the hard little bud, then licked at it with his tongue. Rick had always tried not to notice how much Daryl had filled out over the years. Now, Daryl could swing his crossbow with no trouble, but when they’d first met outside of Atlanta, the muscles and strength in his upper body hadn’t fully developed. He’d never given himself permission before to look, let alone touch.

Daryl moved his hand and thrust forward, rubbing their cocks together through their clothes. He pulled off Rick’s t-shirt, and Rick had to stop playing with Daryl’s nipples as the fabric slid over his face. He felt Daryl’s hands on his cheeks, and the kiss was filthy as they rubbed and grinded against each other. Rick was so close, so lost in the feel of Daryl’s body against his, that he felt desperate to slow down a little, not wanting this to be over too soon.

It was torture to stop. He had to push a little at Daryl’s chest before Daryl realized what he wanted, taking a step back. Rick stared at him, breathing just as hard as he was, chest naked in the scant light from the shed’s one window. Daryl looked a little unsure, and Rick couldn’t have that. He reached forward slowly, feeling weirdly proud of the slight sheen of wetness on Daryl’s chest. Now that he was looking, he could see the white bandage from Daryl’s wound. Rick pressed his palm directly over Daryl’s abs. Rick hadn’t expected to enjoy the sight of Daryl’s body so much. His stomach was a little soft, but the muscle underneath was clearly defined. Daryl didn’t have a lot of fat on him, and Rick wished that he could have done this differently, somewhere with a lot of light so that he could look his goddamn fill. Rick curled his hand, scraping his nails lightly over the inner curve of Daryl’s belly button, moving slowly to the waistband of Daryl’s khakis. Daryl opened them with shaking fingers, and Rick slid his hand down further, tugging lightly at the hair of Daryl’s treasure trail. Daryl pushed down his pants and underwear, and stood there naked in the near dark, his breathing a little heavier than normal.

Rick’s mouth went dry with want. He started to kneel, wanting his mouth on Daryl’s cock. He wasn’t exactly sure of what he was doing, but hoped that he’d figure it out well enough. Daryl stopped him with his hands on his shoulders, and Rick froze, looking up at Daryl in confusion.

“No, man. Not this time. I just want. . .” Daryl pushed Rick’s hand down on his cock, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Not gonna last if you get on your knees.”

Oh.

Well, that Rick could relate to. Even the _thought_ of Daryl on his knees in front of him has his cock seeping with more precome. He wrapped his palm around the hot column of flesh in his hand, and gave an experimental stroke. Daryl flailed, his hand slapping against the wall for balance. WIth his other he tried to open Rick’s gun belt.

“Come on, come _on. . ._ ” Daryl’s mutter made Rick’s lips twist in a grin and he leaned forward, kissing Daryl again with his smiling mouth.

He let go of Daryl to pop open the button of his jeans, and Rick jerked his hips once, knowing that the weight of the gunbelt would drag his jeans down. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath- a fat that Daryl seemed to appreciate if the low moan was any indication.

Rick took a small step backwards so that his body was propped up by the wooden shed, wincing a little at the bite of splinters against his naked back. He hunched in on himself a little, so that Daryl’s palm rested slightly above his shoulder. Daryl’s whole body seemed huge like this, curled around him, and Rick was stunned to discover how much he really liked the fact that he had to look up slightly to meet Daryl’s heavy-lidded gaze. The wet, slick head of Daryl’s cock butted against Rick’s thigh and he used one hand to wrap his fingers around it again. He bit his lip when Daryl touched him for the first time, a little embarrassed by the amount of sticky wetness on his already throbbing cock.

“Yeah?” The growl of Daryl’s voice was barely audible, but Rick still shivered, nodding.

They both started, rubbing and squeezing each other’s cocks. Daryl’s hand was tight, using the precome to stroke. Daryl’s cock wasn’t as wet. Rick spat in his hand, and Daryl shivered a little when his grip became less dry. Daryl’s lips pressed against his, and Rick realized that Daryl was moaning his name over and over, so softly that it was barely a whisper. Rick pulled back to see that Daryl’s eyes were screwed shut, obviously desperate not to come too fast.

Rick had never watched gay porn before. He’d certainly never done this with another man, so he couldn’t say where the idea came from, but when Rick pushed their cocks together he cried out at the sensation. He was a mess. Rick didn’t know if had just been a really long time since he had come, or if he was just incredibly turned on, but he was so wet that with Daryl’s cock slid against his, and with both of their hands together, fingers entangled, working in tandem it was only a minute- two tops- before he felt his body start to come.

Rick’s cock jerked in their combined grips, and Daryl’s lips pressed against his, partially muffling the strangled scream of relief. Rick couldn’t catch his breath. His whole body felt tight- like every muscle had locked as his cock spurted again in Daryl’s slightly too-tight grip. His whole body relaxed at once, and Rick was grateful for the wall at his back as his heart started beating again. He sucked in a deep breath, and another, enjoying the sensitive, tingly feeling that spread from the base of his cock throughout his body.

Daryl kissed with an open mouth, trying to be patient but failing miserably, and Rick felt like an asshole for standing there like an idiot, coming down from his orgasm when he realized that Daryl had started to stroke himself, moving much faster and with a tighter grip than Rick had done.

Rick batted at his hand, and Daryl brought the other one up to the wall, almost caging Rick with his own body. Rick stared up at Daryl as he slowly started again, ignoring Daryl’s frustrated whine. “Fuck, Rick. I was almost. . .”

“Yeah. I know you were.” Rick’s tight grin was far from nice, but Daryl moaned with a shiver. “Now spread your legs a little and let me do this.”

Daryl complied, and Rick swallowed at the dark feeling of satisfaction he got when Daryl immediately obeyed him. Sometimes when Rick jerked off, he liked to draw it out, getting closer and closer to coming before making himself stop, wait a few minutes, then start again, craving the buildup and the inevitable crash over the other side. He had no idea if Daryl liked that too, but Daryl had definitely been seconds from stopping before Rick had pushed his hands away.

Rick actually let go of Daryl’s cock, bringing is slightly sticky hands up each side of Daryl’s waist and torso, then reaching down and over Daryl’s ass.

Daryl froze for a heartbeat, his eyes meeting Rick’s in the darkness. Rick shook his head once, figuring that was something that needed an entire conversation and a lot more thought than a hasty fumble in a dark shed, and continued the long stroke of his hands, over the cheeks of Daryl’s ass and down as far as he could reach on the back of his thighs. He moved his hands around, enjoying Daryl’s reaction as Rick brushed against the hair on his thighs, and up to cup his balls.

“ _Fuck_ , Rick.”

Rick brought his hands up again, ignoring Daryl’s cock and stroking up over his chest again, up to his shoulders and down Daryl’s biceps and forearms. It had been so long since Rick had just touched anyone like this. He found that he was a little starved for the simple pleasure. Daryl had relaxed almost, leaning into the touch, muscles twitching under Rick’s firm touch.

“I’m gonna jerk you off, but I want you to tell me this time if I’m not doin’ it right.”

Daryl made a strangled sound that was a little like a laugh. “Ain’t no way to do it _wrong_.”

Rick waited a beat. The eagerness that Daryl had listened to him before made him think that Daryl’d be into what he was thinking, but there was still a possibility it would be too much. Daryl wasn’t much of a talker, preferring to store up all his words for when he had something important to say.

If this was the only time that they’d ever do this, then Rick wanted something that he could remember forever.

“You watch me now.”

Daryl’s eyes snapped to his, a little wide. Rick had to break eye contact. His hands had dried a little, but his own cock was still wet between his thighs. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t entirely soft either, and touching himself made him huff a shocked breath.

Rick reached down, his hand slippery with his own come and wrapped it around the head of Daryl’s cock. Daryl’s cock was longer than his, and curved upward slightly. Rick started slowly, moving from tip to base with a fist that he knew was too loose for what Daryl wanted, if the quick glimpse he’d gotten had been right.

“I want you to shift your weight forward, so most of it’s on your hands. Move your hips and fuck into my hand.”

Rick waited a heartbeat- afraid he’d pushed too much- ridiculously relieved when Daryl gave a tentative thrust of his hips. Rick rewarded him by tightening his left hand around the base of Daryl’s cock, stroking his other fist over the part his hand didn’t touch. Daryl made a low sound in his throat and Rick leaned back so that he could watch Daryl’s face. By now his eyes had adjusted, and the sight of Daryl’s shocked, too-wide stare made something low in Rick’s gut growl and purr possessively.

“C’mon, Daryl. That’s it,” he whispered when Daryl started to thrust with a little more force. Rick found that he had to tighten the muscles in his forearms to keep up with the strength of Daryl’s thrusts. He could smell his own sweat and come in the air, and the sharp, clean scent of Daryl’s sweat made Rick want to taste him all over. He leaned forward, breaking eye contact and kissed Daryl, whispering encouragement against Daryl’s open mouth.

When Daryl came he was practically silent, frozen and shocked, shivering as Rick kept going, milking Daryl’s cock for every spurt of come, focusing on the sensitive head and only stopping when Daryl’s arms collapsed, sending his body against Rick’s.

Whereupon Rick was presented with a dilemma he’d never before dealt with- what to do with a handful of another man’s come. If he was still wearing a shirt, he would have just wiped it against that, but he wasn’t so he moved his hand kind of awkwardly to the side while he hugged Daryl’s sweaty body to him.

“Wow,” was all he could think of to say.

Daryl snorted in laughter. “Wow? Really. . . _wow_?” He rested his head briefly on Rick’s shoulder, and Rick swore that he felt the softest of kisses against his skin before Daryl stood up and took a step back.

Rick managed to fling the squishy mess in his hand against the wall Spiderman-style and even kept a straight face when Daryl actually laughed out loud once he realized what Rick had done.

Daryl took another step back and looked around for his clothes, dressing quickly in the dark. Rick wiped his hand on his shirt and quickly followed suit. He was glad he’d made Daryl laugh, because he had no idea what to do with everything he was feeling.

“You best on go back to the house. I’m gonna have my smoke and finish my rounds.”

Well, that certainly cinched it. After his first time with Lori, there’d been cuddling, and kisses, and confessions of undying love. Rick had been friends with Shane for a very long time and knew that it was possible for people to be casual after sex, but he guessed he just wasn’t wired that way, because his instinctive need to stay with Daryl, to check the Zone’s safety with him and then go back to bed was so strong it took him a second to respond.

“Yeah. Alright.”

Rick had already turned to leave, feeling a bit like the old man he was, when Daryl grabbed the back of his arm and stopped his movement.

“Hey. I’m glad you followed me out here.” Daryl smiled his little half-smile and ducked his head, and Rick felt something in the vicinity of his heart stutter.

“Yeah?” Rick managed to keep his face straight, but it was a near thing. He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was, but he figured he’d have just enough time to go back to the house, take a shower, and get breakfast squared away for everyone. “I am too, but I don’t think Aaron is gonna be too happy if he ever finds out what we got up to in his garage.”

Daryl snorted and leaned back against the side of the shed, lighting the cig and inhaling deeply. Rick didn’t know the last time he’d seen Daryl so obviously relaxed; his body language was quite a bit off from the usual ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe he exuded.

“Yeah, well I sure as shit ain’t gonna say nothin’.”

Rick nodded, his throat tight. He forced a small smile and turned, walking the few steps to his own house and making his way inside. Habit had him checking on both Judith (who had flipped over onto her stomach on the bed with her tush up in the air, dead to the world) and Carl (who slept like he was part octopus, taking up more of the bed then should have able to given the laws of physics) before grabbing a  his clothes and going as quietly as he could back downstairs to use the 1st floor bathroom. He was wide awake, but he also know that if he woke anyone up for such a stupid reason, he’d be like as not to get stabbed- albeit somewhere where it wouldn’t bleed _too_ much.

The shower felt amazing. Part of that was that they actually had hot water, and part of that was that they actually had enough water to waste on _showers_ , but Rick couldn’t deny the illicit little thrill he got every time he stepped under the steamy spray. He soaped himself up and heaved a sigh at the way his dick still tingled, amazed that he hadn’t blacked out after coming so hard. Rick licked his lips and stared off into space, remembering. He waited for some kind of a ‘holy _fuck_ Ijustgotoffwithanotherguy’ but instead remembering the heat of Daryl’s body and the sound of his muffled moans caused his dick to plump up, becoming half hard a lot faster than it probably should have done, given his age and the events of less than twenty minutes ago.

It had been so long since he’d even thought of having a libido, of any kind of sex drive at all that Rick just stood there, letting the slightly too-hot water pound down on his shoulders. He probably should have been freaking out more. He’d never, on a conscious level anyway, had ever looked at another man naked. He’d only ever been with Lori.

God, _Lori._

Rick cringed a little, waiting for something- some spike of guilt or nerves. They had been so young when they’d gotten together. Sex had been crazy, and fun, and so full of love. They’d been each other’s first, and while Rick couldn’t say that the actual sex had been amazing at the beginning- they’d figured it out as they’d figured each other out. Then had come Carl, and Rick had been promoted to Sheriff’s Deputy, and Lori had gotten involved with various church groups and her own small business until they’d started going for months at a time without even kissing, let alone touching or having sex. It was probably a year before he’d been shot that Lori had finally had the guts to do what Rick had been too much of a coward to do. She’d brought up separation, always skirting around what the two of them knew, even deep down, what would probably be best: Divorce.

Maybe that’s why it had hurt so much to find out that she and Shane had been fucking. When he’d shown up at the quarry, he and Lori had had a brief backslide into their honeymoon phase, desperate to find some kind of normalcy in the fucked up world they’d found themselves, and Rick knew that Lori didn’t cheat on him.

She might have come close a few times- Rick never really questioned the claw marks on Shane’s cheek or the brittle way Lori’d been with him that night at the CDC- but Lori wasn’t a cheater. He didn’t blame her for being with Shane. He just wished they all could have talked about it.

Rick shook his head, spraying water from his curls. He searched, but found no guilt for being with Daryl now. In a weird way, Lori would want him to be happy. Although, Rick was pretty damn sure she never would have _ever_ imagine that a mutual hand job with Daryl fucking Dixon would be what made him happy.

Rick finished soaping off and shut the water off with a little squeak, opening the glass a smidge and reaching out for his towel, yanking it inside as quickly as possible so as to not let out the trapped steam. He wrapped it around his waist and opened the shower stall, shivering a little when he stepped out.

Rick wiped off the mirror and stared at his reflection. He made a goofy face, then rolled his eyes, reaching for the toothpaste and his toothbrush.

Fifteen minutes later found him showered, dressed, and with clean teeth, padding barefoot into the kitchen. Dawn was just creeping over the sky, and Rick tried not to look at all the dead still left around. He knew that he was the reason for a good bit of it- the soreness in his shoulders and forearms told him that while he might not remember everything perfectly, his body remembered enough.

Rick frowned, remembering the weird way his heart had beat too fast, and Maggie telling him to breathe, and pushed it down deep, refusing to worry about it.

Enough.

Enough fucking worrying, and thinking, and nervous agonizing over shit he couldn’t control. They had enough on their plates right now, and his family needed him to be strong.

Rick didn’t have the deft hand that Michonne did with the egg stuff, but he knew that he could make a mean bowl of oatmeal. In the pantry he found some dried raisins, a few dried apricots, a couple handfuls of pecans and, holiest of holies: an entire ten gallon plastic container of brown sugar.

He heard people stirring around upstairs by the time he got the water boiled, and by the time he’d added the fruit and nuts, his people were in various states of sleepiness, grouped in the kitchen and over to the family room. Rick tried very hard not to flinch at the sight of his son making his way carefully down the stairs, but all the bandages were jarring, to say the least.

They all tactfully ignored the way his hand-eye coordination was off. He was quiet, which was to be expected, but to be fair, everyone was pretty quiet. Rick was in the middle of counting bowls when Daryl showed up and Rick hoped the way he fumbled the spoon didn’t make him look like as much of a dumbass as he suspected it did.

He waited a few minutes until most everyone had finished before clearing his throat. Rick looked around at everyone, realizing that Daryl must have made the rounds to ensure that everyone who wanted to be there was there.

Carol had shown up with a widely-grinning Tobin, who sat near Maggie and Glenn. Enid sat to his right, stealing looks at Carl from under her hair. Gabriel had shown up with Rosita, who sat as far from Abraham as she possibly could, which Rick thought was a little odd, but he also knew it was their business. Eugene stood in the back of the room, quietly. Michonne sat across from Carl and was feeding Judith, who seemed a lot more interested in playing the ‘I-just-dropped-my-sippy-cup-isn’t-this-hilarious’ game then in eating her breakfast. Abraham had eaten hugely of everything and sat leaning back in his chair, looking like all was right in his world. Sasha had been cleaning her knife, but looked up at Rick expectantly, waiting. Aaron and Eric had shown up a little late and were crowded into the little nook by the bar, looking around at everyone. Morgan sat alone, eating his oatmeal, determinedly not looking at anyone. Rick got up and went into the office downstairs, grabbing a notebook and a pen and scribbling down a note to himself for later.

  * Talk to Morgan



He clicked the pen and rapped it against Judith’s sippy cup. Carol snorted a laugh, then winced and grabbed her ribs. For some reason, Tobin gave Morgan an absolutely filthy look, and Rick sighed, then underlined ‘Talk to Morgan’ in his notebook.

  * Talk to Morgan



“Right, well thanks for coming.” Rick scratched his eyebrow, feeling a lot like when he’d forgotten to do his homework, and the teacher stared at him with that expectant stare. “I know that the past few days haven’t been easy. But we’re alive, and that’s because of all of you. We’ve lost a lot of good people, and that’s never easy.” Rick sighed. “I called this meeting so we could talk about. . . well everything, really. Make a plan going forward.” Rick looked around the room, hoping that Spencer had somehow shown up, but finding no sign of him. “Deanna had a clear vision for this place, but the world outside was stronger than she anticipated. She brought us in to keep them safe and. . .” Rick broke off, the weight of all his failures heavy on his shoulders.

“Um, I don’t mean to interrupt, but it seems to me that we wouldn’t be here if you guys hadn’t shown up when you did.” Eric looked a little flustered to have everyone’s attention on him, but continued. “The people that broke in here, and the herd that came after. . . that was just a _little bit_ of what could had happened, if that herd of the dead was as big as you said it was.”

Tobin cleared his throat. “I’ve never seen anything so frightening in my life, and I’ll be damn sure to tell anyone that asks-- hell, anyone that doesn’t ask!- that what we saw here was just a _tiny_ _bit_ of the group that they led away from us.” He looked over at Daryl and nodded his thanks, then sat down, flushing when he realized that no one assembled was arguing with him.

“Right.” Rick couldn’t hide the pleasure he felt. His plan had gone from fucked up to so fucked up that it defied description, but they _had_ diverted hundreds of thousands of them. “How far did you guys end up going?”

Sasha’s voice was subdued when she replied. “About twenty miles, give or take. Daryl took some of them off in another direction too.” She shrugged. “It went about like you said it would, although next time we do that I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t have me driving the biggest piece of shit car on what’s left of the planet.” Several people grinned at this, and Abraham barked out a raucous laugh that made Judith jump and look over at him with wide eyes. She very carefully set her sippy cup on her tray and took a big bite of food.

Rick tried, and failed not to smirk.

“Once the walls are secure, I’d like to take a small group out again to divert the rest of ‘em. Shouldn’t be too hard with some strobe lights and a boombox or two.”

Rick nodded and wrote that down.

  * Talk to Morgan
  * Abraham and mission ‘Death Metal Diversion’



“Speaking of the walls, seeing that massive truck gave me an idea. The steel was great, but it was a quick job that we just added to over and over again. Doesn’t surprise me that we had a mishap- there’s all sorts of stuff around here. We should have the rest of it reinforced by the end of today, but I’d really feel more comfortable if we dug out each section and added in concrete around the steel rods in the ground. That’s gonna mean heavy duty, and loud equipment, but if we work in sections it shouldn’t take too long.”

“You could mix it in wheelbarrows. Be a helluva lot quieter.”

Tobin nodded at Daryl. “Right. I think if we got the materials, we’d be safer. Use some 2x4s to make a mold, pour some fast dry concrete, let it cure around the steel rods that hold the wall now. Oh!” He sat up straight, obviously struck by something. “Bricks! We can use bricks and mortar on the inside as an extra reinforcement. It would be quiet as hell, and quite a surprise if someone tries to break through again.”

“It’s pretty easy to get out of here. And sneak back in.” Enid’s quiet voice was unexpected, and she steadfastly refused to look up at anyone. “I liked the idea of having people up higher, watching for any danger.”

“Makes sense to me to clear out a lot of our lines of sight, so the snipers don’t have so much to look through. I mean, they popped this place in the middle of Alexandria, and there’s still buildings and roads and everything else.”

Rick nodded, writing furiously. “How far d’ya think line of sight should be?” Rick looked up, only to see that just about everyone at the table had craned their necks to see what he was writing. He spun the list around so they could read to their heart’s content.

It was Aaron who answered, “Enid’s right about easy enough to sneak in. We never cleared it because we didn’t have. . . er. The manpower to keep everyone safe.” Rick quickly translated that to ‘too many people were afraid to leave the walls’ and nodded. “I’d like a good fifty feet so that we’re not caught again like that. Thirty at the absolute minimum.”

  * Talk to Morgan
  * Abraham and mission ‘Death Metal Diversion’
  * Concrete base- Tobin, selects a crew?
  * Bricks, mortar, other building supplies. Truck vs Wheelbarrow?
  * Rebuild sniper roosts- four corners
  * Clear line of sight for 30 to 50 ft all directions.



“I’d like to expand the farmland.” Maggie’s quiet voice left no doubt that the words might have sounded like a request, but it was very obviously an order. “Deanna and I talked quite a bit before she. . . died. We had plans for expansion, to take over the park and some of the empty lots for food production. Even a windmill near the water station.” She smiled. “Sounds like a job for a farm girl if ever I saw one.”

“Speaking of water, we have a lake full of a lot of crispified walker. That’s gonna need to be cleaned and we’ll probably have to boil water for a good month or two, even with the purification system in place.” Eugene spoke quietly, and Rick jumped a little, haven forgotten that their resident coward was even in the room. “I volunteer to take on that undertaking.” Eugene smiled without humor at the pun, and Rick tried very hard not to roll his eyes. He nodded, and added to his list.

“Dad, we’re gonna have to make sure everything is. . . okay. There were a lot of people hiding in houses, and I bet a lot got broken into like Deanna’s did. We should make sure everyone is okay. Maybe do a . . . whaddyacall it. One of those things were we have the names and ages of everyone.”

“A census.” Carol answered Carl and sighed. “It seems invasive, but better to know who is still here.”

“You mean, who has died?” Eric asked.

“No. I mean, well the Ricktatorship isn’t going to be universally appealing, and frankly I’m damn tired of trying to convince the people who don’t want it what’s good for them. People are gonna resent you, Rick.” She shrugged with her unhurt side. “They’re damn fools for doin’ it, but they’re gonna resent the shit out of you. And some of them, well. They’re gonna leave.”

Rick blinked at her, stymied. He hadn’t even thought of that.

Daryl waited a beat. “Don’t forget burning and burial. Best get to that first.”

Rick nodded, writing quickly, moving a few things around in order of importance, waiting until he had finished before looking around at everyone.

  *  Bury the dead
  * Secure houses; clear all houses
  *  Concrete base
  * Bricks, mortar, other building supplies. Truck vs Wheelbarrow?
  * Rebuild sniper roosts- four corners?
  * Clear line of sight for 30 to 50 ft all directions.
  * Abraham and mission ‘Death Metal Diversion’
  * Expand farmland, recycle parkland?
  * Clean lake- Eugene
  * Talk to Morgan
  * Census



“That’s quite a lot. It’s gonna take some organization.” Rick looked over to the quieter members of their group to make sure that they had nothing to add. When no one spoke, he continued. “Tobin, Eugene, Maggie, Enid, I want you to pick crews of people.”

“Me?” Enid sat up straight, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Yep. You. It was your idea to clear the line of sight, and it was a damn good one. Don’t see anything wrong with you marking where to clear, and heading up a crew to haul the stuff away.” Enid’s cheeks flushed and she sat a little straighter, obviously pleased with the responsibility. “Glenn and Maggie can help with security- bringing all those houses down will bring a lot of walkers to us.” Rick looked down at his list. “Abe that’s probably when you should time your diversion. I hate to waste the water, but it might be faster to just torch whatever we can’t move and bulldoze the ashes.”

Abraham nodded absently, obviously thinking about logistics. “We can add some cars, a few things in the middle to keep anyone from approaching too directly. Right now though, we have a huge ass fuel truck that we need to siphon from and ditch.” He looked over to Daryl, then met Sasha’s gaze. “I have a feeling that people might come looking for it.”

Rick could see that everyone coming up with these ideas had done a world of good. Having a sense of purpose, of community would keep everyone busy and working together. He knew he didn’t have to tell Maggie and Eugene to work with with some of the locals. If people weren’t comfortable outside the walls, Rick had learned that without question it was probably better to use honey than vinegar to light a fire under their asses, because this ‘parasitic sloth’ thing they had going on was for damn sure not gonna work.

Ricktatorship, indeed.

Rick smirked to himself. Later down the road, it would be better to use a town hall approach to whatever decisions needed to be made, but for now, they needed someone to tell them when to squat and when to lean. Carol was right. If they didn’t like how he did things, then they were welcome to leave.

“Well, I think that’s about all. Take some more oatmeal if you want- I made a little too much.” Rick rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly and stood up, putting most of the rest of it into a container. Only Gabriel wanted leftovers, and Rick had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t the one that was going to be eating. The group broke up with most everyone either leaving or going upstairs. Michonne put Judith in her play pen and gave her a few toys to gum to death before leaving to go help with checking houses. Rick knew that they’d be checked within an inch of their lives, and felt relieved that someone he trusted had stepped up.

To his surprise, Abraham helped to collect the bowls, cleaning up with the comfortable air of a man who had done untold hours of KP duty.

It was quiet for a few minutes while Rick put away most of the dried fruit and the sugar. Rick had a sneaking suspicion that the big man wanted to talk to him about something, and was just waiting for relative privacy before bringing up the subject.

“Hey dad, Daryl ‘n’ me are gonna go to the clinic. Denise wanted to check our stitches.”

Rick flinched, trying to smother the twin desires to be protective of his eldest child, making sure that everything was healing smoothly, and to let Carl take the responsibility for himself- to give him some space to te the man he was shaping up to be. He nodded and to his surprise, Carl gave him a one-armed hug, burrowing under his arm like he’d used to do when he was much smaller, and Rick’s heart felt very fragile as he hugged Carl to him, both of them clinging a little.

Even Abraham cleared his throat a few times as Carl and Daryl left, leaving them alone in the big kitchen.

“Looks like the coast is clear. Go ahead and spit it out.” Rick leaned his ass against the counter and crossed his arms, smiling a little. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help with the dishes.”

Abraham nodded and used the sprayer to slough off some of the sticky oatmeal. “Living in this place has been interesting, to say the least. But now, with all this shit-” he flung one suds covered hand towards the general area of the Zone- “We’re like a man with three drippy dicks.”

Rick bit the inside of his lip. He was pretty sure that was ‘Abraham’ for having a lot of important things to do with only a finite amount of time to do it, but one never really knew with Abraham. “See, I’m sure Daryl filled you in on this Negan fucker. That’s gonna be a major problem.The timing is gonna be a little iffy but I’ve been thinking. Right now we’ve got one lady in charge of an armory of the most mismatched set of weapons I’ve ever seen, and I lived in _Texas_ for Jesus Q Fuck’s sweet-ass sake. We got revolvers that haven’t been cleaned in damn near forever, and semi-automatics missing firing pins!”

He thrust one of the bowls into the suds so hard that they sort of spooged up to hit him on the chin. Abraham was so irked that Rick didn’t even think that he noticed.

“And ammo. Man, there’s ammo for guns that we don’t even have anymore, and most of that hardware- I did a quick count after everything yesterday, and we had less than 500 for the pistols and 200 rounds for most of the heavier shit,. We get another shitstorm like we just had and that’s barely gonna put a dent in anything. We get a _human_ shitstorm and forget it.” Abraham frowned so deeply that his mustache dipped below his chin as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn piece of dried oatmeal. “Don’t even get me started on how many people are actually _trained_ on those weapons.”

“All right, “ Rick trailed off slowly, waiting until Abraham looked at him. “So what are you thinking?”

Abraham licked his lips. “Hear me out first.”

Hoo boy.

Rick couldn’t think of _any_ plan that gone well after starting off like that.

“I figure most of the National Guard Armories have already been looted in this area, with as systematically as it has been cleaned out. Hell, not too far from here is both Fort Belvoir. Plus all sorts of civilian shit near DC. I figure some of that might be worth a looksee just to make sure it’s as dead as I suspect, but.” Abraham looked strangely nervous, and Rick wondered why. “About four hours from here is Radford. It’s an army ammunition plant. Now. I don’t think we’ll have much luck with that, but one of my weekend warrior buddies went to drills on a small base. When they had to go practice shooting, it was on a firing and artillery range a few miles away. Now, some of that ammo is gonna be on site, and that’s hit or miss. I can guaran-damn-tee that I wasn’t the only ex-Army to go all grabby hands on anywhere with any kind of ammo stockpiled. But that ammunition plant- I can’t get it out of my head.”

Rick’s eyebrows had climbed steadily higher and higher during this torrent of words. It was probably the most he’d ever heard Abraham say. “You want to go check out this plant.”

Abraham nodded. “ Fuck yes I do. Maybe a few firing ranges in the area. See, the tricky thing is we need to go far enough that the area hasn’t been scoured, but close enough that we can get back here fairly sharpish should the need arise.”

“Huhn,” Rick grunted, wiping the bowls dry. Drying dishes was a fairly useless act. Rick figured the damn things would dry on their own given half a chance, but this gave him the excuse to think through what Abraham had suggested.

“At the very least, we need to start thinking about finding ammo that fits the shit we already have.”

“You had a chance to plan out how long this would take?”

Abraham nodded. “By car it would take about four days, five if we hit some of the other places around Radford. Week on the outset.”

“We couldn’t take too big of a group. Especially with this Negan character out there. He hasn’t done much directly to us, but I find it hard to believe that he doesn’t know about a community this size.” Rick frowned, remembering Daryl’s somber face as he explained what had happened while they were outside of the walls.

“Well, you figure cleanup and some basic security is going to take a good week or two. After that, well. I think we shouldn’t wait too much longer. It’s taking  a big damn chance, but we’ve waited this long. Waiting a week or two wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. Here- you mind if I go get my maps?”

Abraham flicked water from his hands and reached for a towel. “It won’t take long.”

Rick shrugged. “Go for it. I’ll finish up here.”

Indeed, by the time he finished drying and putting everything away, Abraham was back and wiping off the marble bar, barely waiting for it to dry before spreading out his maps.

The screen door banged, and Carl and Daryl returned, both stopping short at the way that Abraham kind of froze in place, the visible ‘oh shit!’ look on his face.  

“Daryl, Carl, come on here. Me ‘n’ Abraham would like your input on something.”

Abraham fairly beamed under the huge mustache, and he quickly explained his plan. Daryl, in the way that he often did, got straight to the heart of the matter. “Who’s goin’?”

Rick stared down at the map, thinking furiously. “I agree. Should be a small group- maybe four or less.” Some of the places that Abraham had marked were way the hell out in West Virginia. Part of the reason their trip here had been so miserable was that most of the usable goods had been striped from the area. Now they knew why- and could put a name to the action. Who or whatever Negan was, Rick knew that it would be better to be prepared. If not for him, then for whatever other group that happened along, wanting what they had.

“If you get a bunch of stuff, you should start hiding it. Keeping it buried somewhere, or hidden close enough that we can get to it if we need it, but not so close that we can get ripped off.” Carl said.

“I like how you think, kid.” Abraham darted a look at Rick out of the corner of his eye. “Seems to me that we have a bit of serendipity right here. Why don’t the four of us go?”

“Absolutely _not_.” Rick spoke before he thought about it, the words rolling easily off his tongue.

The silence after he spoke was filled with an almost creeping heaviness. Rick had the feeling that all three of them were thinking about how they wanted to phrase what they wanted to say, which, quite frankly, pissed him off. He didn’t needed to be treated with kid gloves for fuck’s sake.

“Seems t’me, that if the kid there can manage to shoot well enough to hit what he’s aiming at, well. I’d be happy to have him tag along.” Daryl shrugged, carefully not looking at Rick. Rick’s brow furrowed, and he had the unfair thought that if Daryl thought that getting him off meant that he thought he could raise his kid--

“Dad. . . I know that. I know that I’m not ready yet, but if- Abraham, you said two weeks, right?” Abraham nodded. “Well, if in two weeks I’m able to--”

“No. I said, no, and that’s final.” Rick’s voice was louder than he meant it to be.

“Fuck you, ‘that’s final.’” Carl scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

Either Daryl or Abraham sucked in a shocked breath, but Carl plowed on, obviously mad enough and determined enough to have his say.

Rick made an attempt to keep his voice steady. “Excuse me?”

Carl didn’t roll his eye, but it was a close thing. “Oh, you heard me. Give me one good reason that doesn’t start with ‘your eye’ or ‘too young’. I think I’m past the age where you can ground me from going. Cuz face it. Either you think I’m too weak or too damaged to be trusted with something like this.”

Rick held on to the shredded remains of his temper with two fists. “You promised me that you would take care of your sister. Now you did an admirable job when all this was going on--”

“Stay in the _house_ Carl, “Mind your _sister_ Carl.” Hearing Carl mock Lori hurt; a visceral punch to his gut that caused Rick to flinch. He usually didn’t mention her, so to do it now so hatefully was awful. “You know what Ron said before all the walkers broke into Deanna’s house? He said that you were a murderer. That all of this was your fault. We were fighting because of you. Of what _you_ did to his dad. And now? Now all you can see is this!” Carl  jerked off the bandages and Rick heard someone cry out, and he was afraid it was him. Carl was so angry that frustrated tears made his one bright blue eye wet.  The other was. . . _God_.

His baby.

His baby boy.

The cheekbone had a several lines of stitches, and the skin around them looked raw and swollen. The actual eye socket was dark with dried blood and something that Rick was afraid was the stump of his eye muscle. He wanted to puke. He wanted to weep. He wanted to find Ron and have Michonne kill him all over again.

Carl heaved a sob and visibly forced himself to calm down.  He swallowed hard, and broke eye contact, wrapping his face back up with fingers that shook.

“If you need me to do something else around here, that’s f-fine. But _don’t_ dismiss me. If I’m well enough to take care of defense, and if Daryl and Abraham trust me enough to watch their backs, then you don’t get to tell me not to do something.” He raised his chin, jaw jutting stubbornly out, and his whole demeanor was so much Lori after she’d gotten her mad up that Rick found himself thinking instead of reacting. “Dad, I’m young, but I’m not a kid anymore. I promise if I’m not ready I won’t go. But I’m not stupid. I’m not weak, and you know damn well I’m not useless.”

Carl stood up to go, waiting for a moment as though hoping Rick would say something.  Rick was so floored by the last few minutes that it took his brain a few minutes to jumpstart to actual coherency. Carl had made it up two stairs before Rick found his voice. “Carl? You prove that you’re ready, and I’ll think about it.” It was an empty concession. Rick knew it as well as anyone sitting there. Carl was surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly, mature about it. Instead of grinning, or whooping, he just nodded and continued walking upstairs. “And Carl?”

Carl turned to look at him face still pale from his outburst.

“Don’t ever tell me to fuck off again. You know better than to be that disrespectful.”

Carl nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, dad. Sorry, Daryl. Abraham.”  He offered a sheepish half-smile and walked the rest of the way up the stairs. Rick heard a repetitive _thud thud thud_ and looked to Daryl for an explanation.

“Denise gave him a rubber ball to practice catching. I uh.” He looked horribly uncomfortable. “For what it’s worth, I think that some of that may have been spillover from the visit to the doc.”

Rick shrugged. He was still uncomfortable with the whole outburst. Realizing that your kid was mostly grown was probably hard on all parents, but in thiese particular set of circumstances, Rick figured that it was even harder.

“If he doesn’t make it, Sasha can fill in. She’s strong, and good in a fight.”

Rick nodded to Abraham. “All right. I think I’m going to work on clearing some of the bodies.” To say it had already been an eventful day was putting it mildly. He needed some time to think; to process everything from him ‘n’ Daryl, to his relationship with his son, to Carl’s words, and physical labor seemed like the best way to do that and still be productive.

Abraham nodded, packing up his maps. “Hey, man. I’m sorry. . .”

“No. All that was definitely on me.” Rick sighed. He could feel Daryl’s stare on him, heavy and weighted with things he wouldn’t say.  

Rick walked over and picked up Judith. He knew that Gabriel would be willing to watch her while Rick did some of the more grisly tasks that needed to be done.  The screen door banged as the two other men left, and Rick grabbed the diaper bag that Carol had kept ready for every sort of emergency.  He’d been so focused that he completely missed Carl joining him downstairs. He’d changed into clothes that he could get grubby and Rick bit back the instinctive need to tell him what to do.

Maybe Carl was right.

Maybe it was time to let him grow up a little, and if stubbornly dragging dead bodies around was what Carl needed to prove that he wasn’t weak then Rick would work with him, man to man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeew.
> 
> Hopefully chapters can come a little more quickly now. Er. No, that wasn't a pun. 
> 
> Heeeey. Check out that word count *eyebrow waggle* Yep, you made it through a _lot_ of story, and we still have quite a bit more to go! Thank you so very much for sticking with me so far. Every kudos and comment really does mean a lot. 
> 
> (It probably goes without saying, because at this point I feel like you know them as well as I do, but a huge, huge, HUGE thanks to my beta, **FoxyK** and my best friend and chief kicker of asses, Jlm121. Without them, and the cheerleading squad of MaroonCamaro and TwdObsessive, this fic would have fizzled out ages go.)


	24. We're on a Road to Nowhere (Come on Inside)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13. 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my friend **twdobsessive** who since I can't give a physical hug to right now will have to settle for a chapter of this crazyass long fic.  <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have been remiss in mentioning that TWD comic and show have not been my only inspiration for this. I read a lot of dystopian fiction, and I'm pretty sure I used something from The Last of Us at one point. If you've read anything else of mine, you know that I ship Carl and Clementine (from the Telltale games) like fed ex, and one of the methods for killing walkers I borrowed from that. Several years ago, I found a podcast called "We're Alive" and Life happened and was never able to finish it. A few years ago I stumbled upon it again and holy fuckballs, am I in love with that story. It has probably one of the coolest zombie mythos that I've ever come across in all of the weird shit I like. Anyway, if you've listened, you'll notice that Abraham is channeling some of Burt. :) Oh, and I always base the ASZ off of the Boulder Free Zone in The Stand, so there's that. Sorry. As you were.

Two weeks.

A lot can happen in two weeks. Daryl had always heard that, but hadn’t really thought about what it meant. Just one of those sayings, like ‘bad things happen in threes’ or ‘everything happens for a reason.’ Shit his mama had believed in until the day she died. She’d been dead for over thirty years, but Daryl still missed her every time of of those stupidass sayings popped into his head.

  
Daryl sighed and looked out of the window of the sleepy community. The vivid pinks and oranges of the sunrise spread across the sky. He’d always been an early riser, and  even after the world had gone to shit, that hadn’t changed.

In those two weeks, Enid had been like a little general. Daryl didn’t think, prior to the meeting, that he’d heard the girl say three words strung together (and yes, he was fully aware of the irony of _him_ pointing out someone’s reticence), but she’d dug up a fisherman’s hat from somewhere and was out every day with a crew of ten people, most of whom were volintold rather than volunteers- marking of the land that they wanted to clear.  She bellowed orders and generally didn’t take any shit from anyone. It had been kind of funny until she’d mentioned that her parents had flipped and renovated houses before all this had happened.  Then it was just a little sad. Amazingly the weather had even cooperated with three days of rain. They weren’t sure if the storms would disguise some of the sound, but it sure as shit wouldn’t hurt.

Daryl splashed some water on his face and debated whether or not to make a cup of coffee. He wanted to get the rest of the guns cleaned and inventoried before they left. To make sure things went smoothly with Enid’s team, Abraham, Sasha and Daryl had done another stint as bait, rounding up as many scragglers as they could and making sure they were led far from the ASZ. Michonne and Aaron had served as lookouts to make sure that the volunteers weren’t scared shitless to be out of the walls as they tore down buildings. Eugene had pointed out that anyone who was lookin would be able to see the smoke if they burnt down the houses that were in the way, so they’d gone with heavy equipment, but enough to do it quick.  

Even Carl had come out to watch the commotion, as they used the now empty fuel truck and, the excavator, and the bulldozer to raze just about everything to the ground.  He had climbed up one of the scaffolds and sat down, his feet dangling over the edge,  face hidden by a bright green umbrella. He ignored just about everyone.  It was loud as hell, but he, Abraham, and Sasha had worked as a relay to herd them all up and all told it had taken four days to level everything, with another three to sort all the materials into keep and not keep. Anything they couldn’t use, they just popped into the fuel truck.

The plan was to abandon it somewhere once they were able to actually leave. If any of the Negan people saw it near Alexandria, it would be a fairly easy job to find them.

Tobin, Tara, Spencer, Eric, and Eugene had gone on a run for the rest of the construction supplies they needed.  Fortunately, the mall where Reg had found the steel so long ago still had supplies all over the place, locked up in onsite trailers and sheds. They had found the concrete, bricks, wheelbarrows, shovels, 2 x 4s, and even some more metal poles. The whole run had only taken about four hours and all five of them had returned to the gates feeling like they’d accomplished something.

Daryl shut the house’s front door as quietly as he could and jogged down towards the armory. Abraham had been right. Things might have looked organized, but it was a shitstorm. Eric and Aaron were helping him finish everything.

Come to think of it, Eric would definitely bring coffee.

Daryl snorted to himself. Hell, he’d be lucky of Carl didn’t show up to help them. That kid was everywhere these days.

In two weeks Carl had worked endlessly to get back some kind of hand-eye coordination. Denise had given him a hard ball to bounce and catch, and the _thud thud thud_  could be heard at all hours of the day and night.  

Carl was a tough kid. Well, not a kid, really. He was probably fifteen or sixteen by now, and absolutely determined to go on the road trip with his dad, Daryl, and Abraham. Olivia had come up with a bow and arrow set, and Carl could be found practicing for hours and hours with the rubberized, blunted arrows and the bright red targets. Their ammo was way too low to waste on target practice, so he adapted.

They’d all adapted.

Eric had indeed beat him to the armory. He was buried in a fleece jacket and clutching a thermos of coffee rather pathetically. It hadn’t snowed yet, but mornings were definitely chilly. Daryl hadn’t seen much snow. He was both looking forward to it and terrified they’d all freeze to death.

“H-hi. Keys!”

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Daryl jogged up the last few steps.

Eric sucked his teeth and motioned for Daryl to go on in. Olivia had absolutely no intention of getting up this early, so she’d given the keys to Eric who, for some strange reason, always waited for Daryl before entering the building.

This was the third day that they’d cleaned the weapons in the building, so they knew their way to the gun racks and shelves. Cleaning the different types of guns was a tedious process, and Daryl was glad to have the help. Eric usually chattered on about everything and nothing, and usually Daryl only had to ‘uh huh’ or ‘yeah’ a few times. Not that he didn’t listen- because he did.

Today though, Eric was strangely quiet.

Daryl figured that he’d talk when he was ready, and helped himself to some coffee.

Sure enough, they’d finished the semi automatics and were mostly done with the Glocks. Eric had mentioned that most of them were collected from both city police and county sheriffs. Most of the military, either the National Guard called in to help establish martial law or the regular Army used a toss up of a Browning Hi-Power or a Beretta 92 as a sidearm.   

“Why are these in the worst shape? Most military I know take better care of their weapons then themselves.”

Eric must have been really concentrating, because he jumped a little, staring over at Daryl with eyes the size of dinner plates, as though the question was completely unexpected. “Oh well. After the mass exodus from the DC area, there were a lot of military-run refugee camps.” He frowned. “For awhile. They didn’t last long, and when Aiden and Spencer went out to scavenge, they came back covered in all sorts of stuff.”

“Hhnnhn.”

Eric wiped the barrel of the pistol carefully, although Daryl could feel the other man’s gaze on him. “Okay so I really suck at keeping things secret. Aaron told me just last night and made me _swear_ not to tell, but oh my _god_ I can’t believe it and I’m sorry but I just have to ask.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow. He was desperately trying not to be paranoid, but had a sneaking suspicion he knew to what Eric was referring.

Eric sucked in a deep breath. “Okay first of all, Aaron said that I’m to invite you to dinner as soon as you get back. And you _have_ to come or he’ll be so mad at me for fucking this up.”

“Okay..” He didn’t mind that. Eric’s spaghetti had been pretty damn good that last time.

Eric took his sweet damn time to gather up his courage. Daryl continued to clean, but he was getting a little more and more nervous.

“Um okay so. Aaron said that. . . uh, the night after we all fought? He couldn’t sleep--.”

 _Oh_ **_shit_** _._

“--And he heard some banging around in his shed--”

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

“-- and he didn’t _see_ anything, but he sure heard plenty--”

“Stop.” Daryl held up a hand and Eric stopped so suddenly his mouth gaped a little. Daryl’s heartbeat increased so quickly that he could feel the blush in his cheeks approaching something that might give him a goddamn heart attack. “You can’t tell anyone. Rick doesn’t--” Daryl bit off the rest of the sentence, turning to the coffee and taking a large swallow.

Eric’s entire demeanor changed. He stood up and actually put his hands on his hips, his walking cast _thunk_ ing against the wood floor. “What exactly do you mean ‘Rick doesn’t’? Daryl was a little taken aback at the other man’s vehemence. His whole demeanor had changed, from kind of gossipy and teasing to an angry bulldog protecting its pups.  “You. . . “ he huffed out a breath and held up both hands, like a traffic cop. “Oh he’ll kiss Jessie in front of god and everyone, but he’s making you keep it a _secret_?”

Daryl ignored the dark jealousy that burned in his gut at the mention of Jessie’s name. He knew he’d never forget spending those hours in the tree like some sad bastard in a Lifetime movie, unable to stop that visual from replaying in his head.  But that wasn’t really fair for Eric to think that about Rick.  “Naw. Not sure anyone can make me do anything I don’t already have a mind to do.” Daryl deliberately started to clean his weapons again. “Was my idea not to put our business out there. Ain’t like I know what the hell I’m doing, anyway.”

He made himself stop talking, not too sure why the hell he felt the need to verbally vomit all over Eric of all people. Well, no. Not true. He respected the guy. He lived his life, loved Aaron with everything he was, and made no apologies for it. And yeah, maybe it hurt a little that Rick had taken his throwaway comment and adopted it as a gospel, but that, as he said, was on him.

“Hmm.” Eric stared at him, obviously thinking hard. He didn’t say anything else though, and finished the gun he’d been cleaning. Daryl noticed that Eric would dart little looks at him out of the side of his eye, but he didn’t say anything, and Daryl didn’t say anything, and not saying anything was a helluva lot less embarrassing.

An hour or so later they were startled by the jaunty knock on the doorframe.

“Hey guys! Second shift is here. Oh, and Carl’s waiting outside for you, Daryl. Guess you guys are gonna go out soon, huh?”

Daryl shrugged with one shoulder. He, Rick, and Abraham were going to go. As for Carl, Rick  hadn’t made a decision yet. And, while Daryl could totally see Carl going off and doing something stupid when left with no other options, he couldn’t make up his mind whether having the kid there was really going to fuck up much of their plans or not.

It seemed unfair to just assume that the kid was going to be a liability. Carl had good instincts. He’d adapted them, honed them, and used them more times than Daryl really wanted to think about. That was why Daryl had first suggested the period of time- giving Carl long enough to mope in his room and change his mind.

The fact that Carl neither moped in his room nor changed his mind shouldn’t have been a shock, really.

“Hey, kid. Eric, I’ll see you ‘n’ Aaron when we get back.”

“Oh make sure you don’t run out of here! Aaron made you guys a little care package. And,” Eric looked strangely shifty all of the sudden. He lowered his voice, not that his ‘low voice’ was much lower than his normal exuberance. “And uh. I have a small list of things that I need, if you don’t mind keeping a lookout. Not a special trip or anything! Just uh. If you happen across them.”  Eric smiled as Daryl nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m not asking for another pasta maker.”

Daryl actually smiled at that. “Okay.”

Eric waved and walked off, leaving Carl and Daryl near one of the huge oak trees near their house.

“Hey.” Carl tilted his head back to make eye contact. “I just wanted you to know that.” He frowned, looking like he was going over something in his head before shrugging. “Look, I know that chances of my dad letting me go with you is pretty nil.” Carl fidgeted with the sleeve of his flannel and continued. “Last time you left me behind I was pretty shitty to you.”

Daryl’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“I wanted to go, and when you said no I was. . . stupid. And I never apologized. I just want you to know that I won’t do that again.”

Daryl felt himself nod. Shit, so much had happened since that Daryl barely remembered that. Something about Beth, and Carl’s voice cracking with anger, and the smooth roar of his bike as he rode away with Aaron in tow.  “No reason to apologize, man.”

Carl grinned a little. “Man? You usually call me a kid.”

It was Daryl’s turn to shrug. “Reckon you’ve stopped actin’ like one.”

They turned the corner and saw Rick loading a few gas cans into the pickup. He had several empty duffel bags and what looked like stacked up rubbermaid containers near the cab, blocked in by a 2 x 4, so that none of their equipment would slide. Daryl saw what looked like two tents and four sleeping bags and managed not to grin outright. Looks like Rick had a change of heart after all.

“You ready to go?”

Daryl caught the wink and tried not to blush too obviously. Rick Grimes winked at him. _Weird_. Daryl didn’t say anything, knowing how Rick wanted him to play this. Not knowing of anything else that he could to hide his face, Daryl bent down to tie one of the laces on his boots.

Rick nodded and turned to look expectantly at Carl. “Don’t forget your extra bandages. I’m not gonna run interference with Denise for you.”

Carl’s grin was easily three feet wide for about three seconds. He quickly forced himself into a very calm nod and cool, “Okay, dad”, but they both heard his much louder “ _YESSSS_!”after he turned away and the thunder of the teenager’s feet as he ran upstairs to his room to pack.

Rick and Daryl both shared conspiratorial grins and Daryl stood up. “I better go get my stuff, too.”  Rick nodded, holding his gaze for a little longer than was probably necessary.  Daryl followed Carl at a much more sedate pace.

Daryl and Rick hadn’t managed to get together for longer than two minutes  during the two weeks since the shed. All of the things that needed doing, and their family had all joined forces to become one ginormous cockblocking team.

Not that Daryl was cranky, about it. No sir.

Daryl rolled his eyes at himself and grabbed his backpack. It looked a little worse for wear, but still had a lot of life left in it, for something he’d picked up at an army surplus store about five years before all the shit hit. That, his vest, and his boots were the only things that he had from his live before.

“Bye Michonne! Bye Carol!”  

Daryl came out of his room just in time to see Carl kiss Carol on the cheek, turning and running down the stairs like he thought that his dad would leave him if he gave him a reason to.  Both women turned to look at Daryl with matching raised eyebrows.

Daryl kissed them both on the opposite cheeks. “Bye Michonne. Bye Carol.” He managed not to grin, but it was a very close thing. He followed Carl’s exuberant path down the stairs and outside. Abraham threw his pack into the back of the truck, and was checking his weapons. The semi-automatic was never far from his grip, but now that they had access to lots of weapons he usually kept a few smaller guns on him for “emergencies”.

“I’m gonna drive the fuel truck. I guess you’re in the truck with Rick and Carl, right?”

Daryl nodded. The plan was to follow him until he’d dumped the huge vehicle, then they could all regroup and head out to the places Abraham wanted to check.  

Daryl slung his backpack into the cab of the car. He didn’t want to have to be without it if there was some kind of giant clusterfuck.  

“All right then.” Rick looked over the truck, looking for all the world like a man packing the car for a family vacation. “Guess we’re ready to head on out.”

“Oh! Oh, wait. Whew, I’m glad I caught you.” Eric waved a little frantically. He couldn’t run with the ankle brace, but he’d managed an awkward lope down the sidewalk. He held a small leather backpack in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.  For someone with a broken ankle, Eric could hustle pretty damn fast when he wanted to. “Here. These are for you. Actually--” He stuffed the piece of paper in the bag and presented the backpack with a little flourish. “Here you go.”

“What’s this?”

“Oh, you said you liked to read. Just some stuff I had around the house.”  Eric grinned and mock saluted. “Good travels, okay? And you’re expected back at the house when you return.”

Daryl nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

“We good? Alright _now_ we can head on out.”  Rick got into the driver’s side and shut the door. Carl claimed shotgun, and Daryl got into the backseat. The truck wasn’t huge, but it would hold the four of them just fine, giving them room to bring home supplies in the back.  They made it out of the gate and around the vehicles with little problems.

“Enid did a damn good job,” Rick remarked as they drove by.  While she hadn’t slapped on the hard hat and done the work herself, it had chivvied her out of the cloak of sadness that she always had around her.  Daryl had been sad for her, when he learned how her parents had died. She was a strong kid though, and had adapted fairly well. Rick giving her a job to do- not a half-ass job  but something the community had really needed- had been pretty smart.

“Yeah. . .” Carl sighed, looking out at the rusted out cars they had left as defense. Eugene and Morgan had rigged wooden spikes that Morgan swore would catch any straggling walkers that happened by.  Carl sounded absolutely smitten, and Daryl raised his eyebrows, meeting Rick’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Rick have his head a little shake, and Daryl understood: no teasing.

Abraham kept to back roads, heading north and west.  The roads were mostly clear, with them having only occasionally needing to go around a stall in the road.  Daryl sat back in the seat, stretching out his arms over the back. He was comfortable now, but Abraham was so big that he seemed to practically suck in all the space around him, like some sort of redheaded black hole. Daryl wanted to take advantage of it while he could. His knee knocked the little backpack, and curiously, he opened the clasp.

Daryl pulled out one book, gaped at it, absolutely  horrified, then shoved it back into the backpack, darting his gaze around to see if either Carl or Rick had noticed.  They were talking quietly in the front, so Daryl looked again feeling a little like he was defusing a bomb.

He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut and looked again. Nope. The titles didn’t change.

 _The Gay Kama Sutra, Men Loving Men, The Joys of Gay Sex, How to Bottom Like a Porn Star_.

Aware that his face was flaming well enough to put out actual heat, Daryl snatched up Eric’s note.

 

> _I had these around the house. Man, if we still had the internet, I could find some diagrams or something. I realize that this is not a sex holiday, but should you get some alone time, I listed a few kinds of lube, you might need condoms, and a few other items for fun. :)  Obviously these aren’t for me, so pick whatever you think you want. I’ve always wanted to be someone’s gay guru, so if you have any questions, let me know._

> _Xoxo,_

> _Eric_

 

Daryl looked up in time to meet Rick’s curious gaze in the rearview mirror.  Oh sure, he could have hidden it back down in the backpack, but a good bit of him just wanted to see what would happen.

Daryl pulled out the lurid pink cover of _How to Bottom Like A Porn Star_ and turned it so Rick could see the cover in the mirror.  Daryl knew that he was smirking and didn’t care.

“Jeeze dad! Drive much?”

“Uh. Er--sorry. Must have been something in the road.”

Daryl put the book back and lay back in the seat, spreading his legs a little, watching the way that Rick couldn’t seem to look away from his reflection.  After everything, he couldn’t deny that it gave him a bit of. . . something to know that Rick was watching him as much as he’d been watching Rick. Carl leaned back in his seat and Daryl winced inwardly. Maybe not the best plan with the kid in the car.

They had been driving for about an hour when Abraham’s tail lights flashed and the big fuel truck stopped. Rick’s, “oh shit” jolted Daryl out of the funk he’d been in and he grabbed for his knife.  

The three of them heard Abraham’s ‘no danger’ whistle and the tension in the truck’s cab dissipated, Carl and Rick settling back once the danger was past.  Abraham turned off the huge motor and swung out,  his face like a thundercloud.

“What?”

“Plan’s dicked. Look for yourself.”

Daryl got out of the backseat. He heard the car door dinging as the other two spilled out of the truck.   Their plan had been to get around most of the traffic snarls that had clogged up I-66 by going a little further north into Maryland, then heading west and south.  The area to the south the avoided- either because it had been picked clean or because before Daryl had bbq’d those assholes on bikes, the head asshole had hinted that Negan’s men were all over the place, but mostly to the south and west of the ASZ. It was kind of hit and miss, since they didn’t necessarily know for sure, but Abraham had suggested the roads that he thought would be less of a hassle, and frankly Daryl didn’t much give a shit. He was just glad to get out of the walls for awhile.

Now though, he knew they’d have to seriously reconsider the plan.

The junction of Interstates and highways had been brought down. The four of them stood looking over where a bridge would have been. The two interstates, and the two highway roads were a mess of rubble.  Huge chunks of concrete had crushed vehicles. They could see that a large Helicopter had crashed. It burned so badly that the scorch marks around it left the concrete black and powdery.

“Holy shit! What could have made the concrete _burn_?"

"Abraham stroked one side of his mustache, looking out at the destruction. “Same sorta thing happened on I-95. What a shitshow. That’s a Sikorsky CH-54, and it’s usually used for heavy cargo. Whatever it was carrying must have caused all this when it crashed, but I’ve never seen marks like that.”  He indicated the scorch marks with his chin.

“I’m not sure.”  Rick crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at what looked like a small family of walkers, stumbling around. What had been the mother had broken her leg, and she was dragging it behind her.  The four of them were far up enough that even their voices didn’t carry to the mess below.

“What do ya mean?”

“Well, DC had a bit of a warning, right, with the West having a bit more than that?”

Abraham shrugged. “Hours, seemed like. Maybe half a day in some places.”

“But long enough to establish some sort of order. They evacuated the big cities, set up some camps, tried to keep shit together. But they had to know that eventually people would try to get _in_ to those places, right?”

Daryl found himself nodding with the rest of them.

“I think they brought these roads down on purpose. He turned away from them, reached into the driver’s seat and pulled out the map.  “Look.” He shook the map out and spread it onto the hood. “They took out here, here, here, here, and even this little bit here. They had to know that people would be comin’ like we did, travelling to DC. I think they made it so that there were only a few ways in and out. Like they did with the city of Alexandria, only on a smaller scale.”

Abraham whistled under his breath. “Well, I’ll be fucked.”

They were all quiet for a moment, digesting Rick’s theory. Eventually though, Abraham turned back to the map. “I still think that it’s worth checking out the Armory. I’m sure it’s been picked over, but we can see what we can figure out. From there, we can head to Radford. If we double back a bit, We can take the 641. . . uh. Looks like Chapel through Clifton, then jog west a bit to pick up this here.”

“Not sure if I’m up to mountains. Still think it’s our best bet to go around ‘em.  One stall out, or jackknifed semi, and it’s a helluva long way down.”

“Right, well let’s stop gabbing like a buncha old women and skedaddle.”

It was a bit like Daryl had thought- with all four of them, space inside the truck was at a premium.  Abraham took one look at the backseat then switched with Carl, which was fine. Daryl noticed the kid checking out the backpack that Eric had given him, and shoved it down on the floorboard,near the door.  That wasn’t for his eyes.

Daryl looked out the window, staring at the countryside passing by. It seemed surreal that the four of them were in a car together, driving, after everything that they’d gone through to get to this point. Daryl felt oddly humbled, that he was with these people; that they had taken him in as family with no expectations.

Daryl swallowed hard, his throat tightening with emotion.  

Carl shifted next to him, and grateful for the distraction from his thoughts, Daryl turned his head. Denise had come up with this pegboard contraption that she swore would improve hand-eye coordination and Carl’s depth perception. She had different golf tees of different colors and sizes, to test if for color blindness, claiming that she didn't know how his mind would process the trauma.  When he’d started, Carl could hardly get the pegs in the tiny holes, and had been easily frustrated.

It had been heartbreaking to watch; Carl would move his hand, obviously _seeing_ where and how the peg should go in, but between the initial movement and getting his hand to the board, something would veer off, and it would either go in the wrong hole or miss completely.

“You been workin’ on that this whole time?”

Carl shrugged with one shoulder. “Reading gives me a headache in the car. Always has done. I imagine now it would suck more.”

“You’re doing better.”

“Yeah. I’ve improved my times quite a bit. I can almost get them all in in under 40 seconds, but they’re all mixed up. Denise said there’s a pattern that they’re supposed to go in. I’ll work on that later.”

“Once you get your speed back, you should practice in a mirror.”

Carl pulled a mock horrified face. “That sounds like the opposite of what I want to do. Hell, Judy is gonna be able to do this again before I manage to get all the little pegs in the holes. Have you seen her? She’s fast with that[ ball thingy that she puts the yellow shapes into ](https://img0.etsystatic.com/035/0/5281890/il_fullxfull.610075500_ad3j.jpg).” Carl raised one finger and tapped his temple, near his good eye. “But don’t you worry. I’ve got my eye on her.”

There was a beat of silence, then Abraham made a sound that sounded a whole helluva lot like a man trying not to let anyone know he was laughing- that or his lungs had just collapsed. Daryl knew his own eyebrows had gotten lost somewhere in his bangs.  Rick’s hands tightened white-knuckled on the steering wheel, but he looked up at his son in the rearview mirror. “Nice one.”

“What, too soon?”

Abraham turned so he could see Carl’s face, a huge grin on his face. “You’ve got some solid balls, kid. I admire that.”

Carl lifted his shoulder again, dismissively. “Michonne says I might as well laugh about it, since it’s not gonna change. I mean, I’m always gonna wear these bandages. An eyepatch covers up the missing eyeball, but my face is all. . . “ Carl shoved a peg in a hole, pushing with more force than necessary. “Gross.”

“Don’t say that,” Rick whispered. Daryl saw that he had tightened his hands on the wheel so hard that Daryl was surprised the damn thing didn’t bend.

“Well, it is. And it’s my face. I can say what I want about my own face. Denise took out the stitches, and it’s. I mean, I look like someone out of one of my comic books.” Carl bent over and shoved the pegboard and pegs into his backpack, obviously done for the day.

“I don’t think you got anything to worry about on the looks front. That Enid sure enough pops up just about everywhere you have reason to be.” Abraham’s tone had changed. He sounded almost gentle; a far cry from his usual boisterousness.

“Nah. She and Ron were. . .” Carl sighed. “It doesn’t matter, really. I can’t change it. And the alternative is to be dead so. . . “

Daryl tried to think of something to say that would make all of this a little less painful. He knew that Carl had been trying to joke, and to brush off what had happened for their sake, but losing his eye obviously gave him some lingering doubts. It would anyone, let alone a teenager going through their first crush angst.

The silence in the truck’s cab wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t painful either. All of them were quiet as the time passed. THey kept to the back roads, following the map. Places looked dilapidated and overgrown, and there were occasional walkers that they had to drive around, but overall it was a very peaceful drive.  Daryl actually closed his eyes, napping while he was comfortable and safe.

He woke up with a jolt when the truck stopped,  sheepishly wiping the drool off the corner of his mouth.  Carl snored,  passed out next to him, his head on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Where are we?”

“State Park.” Rick opened his car door.

Daryl yawned, stretched and peered out the window. They were about two hours from sundown, which gave them plenty of time to get set up for the night. It would be too risky to use headlights on unfamiliar roads.

“Yeah, we’re not too far from the National Guard Armory.” Abraham popped his knuckles. “I don’t expect much from it, but it’s worth a look-see.”

“Right.” Daryl could see that Rick had stopped in front of the park gate. There were barriers blocking both sides of the little Ranger’s booth, but nothing that they couldn’t easily lift out of the way. He and Rick did so, while Abraham drove through. They put the barrier back. The last time they were at a park, it had been strangely calm. This was a little like that. It made Daryl uncomfortable as all fuck.

“What do you think? Ranger station or cabins?”

“Six of one, man.” Abraham gestured towards the sign that said ‘primitive cabins’ “We just need to hope that no one else decided to grab them before we did.”

“Looks like the Ranger station has been picked through,” Carl said, frowning. He jerked his chin towards the doors and Daryl peered over the kid’s head to see. “Worth looking through, but yeah, looks like either animals or worse have been in there.”

Rick drove down the gravel path. The park was set up pretty much like every other state park Daryl had been to, with signs for RV and tent camping, and a pathway for the cabins- just far enough away from the regular campers to make the cabin-dwellers feel special. The ranger station was more of a convenience store for the campers instead of an actual ranger station. Abraham took point, tapping the handle of his knife against the frame of the door, and all of them relaxing when nothing growled or staggered towards them.

Carl had been right. There were a few offices, and what looked like a bathroom, but the rest of the space had been looted pretty thoroughly. They found a pack of crackers and a 4-pack of toilet paper that had one roll poking out of the plastic, but everything else was just dust and broken wooden shelves.

“Dusty. Been empty awhile.”  Rick shrugged. “Wood’s so treated we can’t even use it for the fire.” He sounded like a grumpy old man, frustrated with the world that had conspired against him.  Daryl tried and failed not to smirk. Carl must have thought the same thing, because he didn’t even bother to hide the huge grin on his face.

“Oh shut up. Both of you. C’mon, let’s go check out the cabins. If that doesn’t work, we always have the tents.”

It didn’t take long to find a cabin that would work for the four of them. The walls were solid, but the doors looked like a healthy sneeze would bring them down.  Abraham and Daryl used some of the bookshelves from the other building to block the cabin’s window, and they wedged a wooden end table near the door for security. Daryl didn’t think that it would stop a strong gust of wind, but it _would_ give them the few seconds that they needed if something tried to force its way in.  While they hadn’t had to worry about basic security in several weeks, Daryl was pleased to see that the skills they’d honed from years of being out in the thick of things came back without a hiccup.

Carol’s prediction didn’t come to fruition. Alexandria _hadn’t_ made them weak.

“Hey, I think we can use the garbage can outside for a fire, so it’s not out in the open. You mind helping me get it?”  Rick nodded at Abraham’s question, and the two men went outside. Daryl could hear Rick’s faint- “I can move the truck to the back.”  Carl sighed, long and drawn out.  He sat on the bottom bunk, trying the pegboard again, while Rick and Abraham had gone outside. It was hard not to feel bad for the kid.

“We still have an hour or so of daylight left. You want to come fish?”  Daryl scratched an eyebrow, not quite sure what to do to make him feel better.  He pulled a couple of heavier branches from the pile of gathered wood, thoughtfully hefting their weight.

“You know, you always do that.” Carl put the pegboard down and sat up, swinging his legs down onto the floor of the cabin.

Daryl reached into his bag and pulled out a few hooks, a couple of lures and some fishing line. He’d started carrying it after Lanier, figuring he wouldn’t have another grocery net handy the next time they happened across a body of water. “Do what?”

“You always step up when my dad is too busy to pay attention.”

Daryl’s hand tightened around the fishing line before he could stop himself, shocked at the amount of anger he felt. He stood up from his crouch, grabbed a plastic container in case they caught anything, and walked out to the nearby pier, barely noticing the scenery.  He set his stuff down and started assembling the fishing poles. Carl followed him, and was quiet, leaning against the rail staring out at the quiet water.

“Never been someone’s daddy. Sure as hell ain’t one now.”

Carl flinched, and Daryl tightened his lips. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Not entirely. He handed Carl a pole and they both cast  out into the water.  

“What I mean by that is that I don’t ‘step up’ because I’m supposed to mind you. Usually, I like the man you’ve become.” Daryl watched out of the corner of his eye as Carl’s shoulders straightened infinitesimally. “Then o’course you say stupid shit like that, and I remember you’ve got a bit of maturin’ to do.”  Carl looked at him, obviously hurt. Daryl realized that Carl had no idea what he’d just said, or how badly he’d just spoke of his father. “Rick’s never ‘too busy to pay attention.’ Seems to me that you’re standin’ here because of how much he works to protect all of us.” Daryl blinked  and remembered the visceral _smell of blood in the night air, shocked stupid at the  realization that the losers he’d fell in with after the prison were ready to kill Rick, Michonne, and Carl, unable to look away from the  ferocity of  Rick turning and attacking Joe’s jugular with his teeth. Like a wolf._

“Oh.”  Carl moved his pole just slightly. They both watched the line in the water that showed the fish were more than interested in the fake lures.

Daryl let the time go by. Faintly, they could hear Rick and Abraham going about setting up camp. Daryl didn’t doubt that one or the both of them had made sure that they had more than enough food for their little road trip, but fresh fish would taste damn good.

“My dad and Shane taught me how to fish.” Carl watched the fish swim closer, barely tapping his line. “We’d go out in the boat and we’d come back with a cooler full of fresh fish. My dad had this lifejacket that he made me wear. It was scratchy, and smelled really bad. Like dead fish.”  The fish took a chance, and Daryl could see Carl’s muscles tense as he concentrated, jerking the pole up, and starting to spin the wood to spool up the line, fighting the pissed off fish.

Daryl wanted to help, but forced himself not to. Either way, this was the kid’s fight.

Carl jerked a little too hard and had to self-correct, his depth perception causing him to almost lose his balance. The fish was miraculously still hooked, and Carl got it up and out of the water, inch by inch.  He was a little out of breath when he tossed the decent-sized perch into the plastic container. It was obvious that the kid felt like he’d just kicked some major fish ass, but he brushed it off, continuing his story slightly out of breath.  

“So one day, I hid the lifejacket, and acted dumb when my dad couldn’t find it under the seat of the boat. I don’t think I was fooling Shane, but my dad didn’t think that I’d lie to his face. I felt bad, but I hated that darn thing. I was sure that they would turn the boat around because my mom woulda gone--” Carl smiled a little wryly. He whistled under his breath. “-- _nuts_ if she found out.” He had to cut off the hook and the small bit of line that had gotten tangled, then recast off the pier into the water only to immediately pull back before the current caused their lines to cross.

Daryl felt a tug on his line and pulled up the fish almost absently, so used to the movements that he could practically ignore them. Lori had been nothing if not protective. “So what happened?”

“Shane pushed me into the water.”  He cast out his line and turned to stare at Daryl.  “I was probably only in the water for a minute tops before my dad fished me out, but they still didn’t take me back to shore.” A small smile twitched over his lips.  “When I complained about being cold, or that I wasn’t a good swimmer, dad just shrugged and Shane said, “You should wear the fucking life jacket.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows.

“My dad punched him. I wasn’t supposed to know about that part, but I saw it in the side mirror of my dad’s truck while I was shivering in the backseat. He punched him right in the mouth and said, ‘don’t you fucking _ever_ do something like that to my kid again.’ I think it was the only time I’d ever seen them mad at each other.”

Carl caught another fish, and another before Daryl caught his second. Daryl didn’t really have anything to say to that, and it looked like Carl was really _thinking_ , so he was content enough to let the silence ride. Daryl had meant what he said, though. He’d be damned if he’d put up with any mouthy teenager bullshit against Rick, not after everything he’d done for them.

They had caught seven decent fish before Daryl heard Rick’s whistle, and the two of them walked back to the cabin. Daryl turned to go clean the fish, but Carl stopped him with a hand on his arm. Carl wasn’t usually a touchy-feely person. “I got it. It’ll be good practice.”

Daryl shrugged. Wasn’t any skin off his ass if the kid wanted to do it or what, but he wasn’t gonna let Carl do it by himself. With just the four of them, the ‘always with a buddy’ protocol was back in effect.

Carl did pretty well, even in the waning light. None of them were particularly picky, so Carl just took out the guts and the heads, and kind of half-assed the scales. They threw the bits they didn’t want into the lake and made their way back inside the cabin.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in sparkly shit! We’ll eat like kings tonight!” Abraham’s excitement at the extent of their catch was almost tangible, and he whistled while he fried the fish up with some potatoes and canned corn. A little salt, some onion powder and garlic, and Daryl suddenly understood why people compared food and porn.

The little fire was just big enough to cook their dinner. The room wasn’t too heavy with smoke, and Daryl stretched out on his bunk bed with a feeling very much like contentment while Rick and Carl took care of the fire and their food and made sure they were all set for the night.

It seemed like only minutes before someone was shaking him awake. Daryl blinked up a little confused at Rick, his brain moving sluggishly after such a good night’s sleep. Rick’s face was very close, and Daryl shivered when Rick brushed his lips over his own. He started to kiss back, only to freeze when the other bunk bed shook with Abraham’s heavy tread as he shimmied down onto the floor. He caught the heat of Rick’s gaze in the early morning light and shivered.

Other than some flirting via rearview mirror, they hadn’t really had a chance to talk, or touch, or much of anything. Rick’s soft, barely-there kiss was just as  devastating as coming for Rick in the shed, or the two of them pressed together, wet from the rain.

Rick moved off and Daryl quickly sat up,remembered just in time that he was on the top of a bunk bed in a cabin with low-ass ceilings, and climbed down. He made his way outside in the early daylight,  splashed his face with some water, and tried to ignore the fact that he was more than half-hard. Breakfast was a stale granola bar and some too-flat, boiled water while they drove to the Armory.

“We are gonna see pretty quick if the place is overrun or not.”  Rick rode shotgun this time, while Abraham drove.

“Yeah, if there was a community there, we’d know about it, even at the ASZ. Still, I think that it would be smart to check the whole place, if possible.” Abraham tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, obviously nervous.

Rick nodded. “Yeah. According to this, we’re about 50 miles from the spot.”

They had to open the gate back up. It amused Daryl a little that both Rick and Abraham shut it behind them. He doubted very seriously that they’d be anywhere near this place again.

Random conversation was not encouraged as they drove a little south and west towards Charlottesville. The area reminded him a lot of north Georgia. They weren’t in the mountains yet, but could see them not too far off. This area was ruralish, but also empty of people or signs of any community. If they didn’t have such limited space they would have looked for more supplies. Daryl barely had a chance to make his ass comfortable before they were seeing signs for the Armory.  Unfortunately for all of them, it was pretty obvious that the whole place was going to be a wash.

Abraham whistled a low, drawn out “shiiiit.”

Shit, indeed.

It reminded Daryl of the devastation left by the RPG. The town had obviously burned, either by accident or on purpose. Hell, it could have been lightning for all they knew. There were some sections still standing, but Abraham obviously cared little about it, setting as direct a course as he could for their destination after going around burned buildings and cars.

“Fuck.”

The brakes squeaked as Abraham stopped the truck.

Concrete still stood, but the buildings had been systematically burnt out. The fires had burned hot, leaving a mess of twisted metal and plastic behind them.  There were several walkers that had been fused into the fire, and all four of them could see their arms and legs moving fruitlessly.  

“Don’t think there’s much point in checking this out.” Daryl hated to state the obvious, but he felt too exposed out in the open like this and wanted this whole mess left in their dust.  

“ _Fuck!”_ Abraham shoved the car into gear with a little more force than they probably needed, and took a left to get them out of the area.

All four of them were quiet for a bit.

This whole idea had been built on the idea that they would be able to find ammo and weapons. Daryl knew that there was more of a chance that the whole thing would go belly up, but he hadn’t expected _this_. First the highways, now the armory. When had people found the time between all the surviving to be this destructive?

“Radford is east of Roanoke. Might take a bit longer with altitude.”

“Altitude?” Carl looked away from the bodies half-melted into the concrete, staring at the back of his dad’s head.

“Yeah. Blue Ridge Mountains.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever been in the mountains before.”  Carl sat back in his seat.

“It’s about two hours on the map, but god knows what we’ll run into on the way. Might be best to circle Roanoke a little, and come up on Radford from the south.”

Rick showed Abraham the map, and the big man nodded. “All right.”  

Daryl had a whole lot of nothing to do. It looked like Carl planned to sleep, and Daryl weighed the embarrassment of one of the three of them seeing the titles of one of the books versus being stupid and figured- fuck it. Eric had given them the books to be helpful and while he was pretty sure that he and Rick could figure out whatever the hell they needed to figure out together, it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of pointers.

Daryl picked up _Men Loving Men,_ what looked like the oldest book, cringing a little at the old cover and flowery introduction. He scanned through the table of contents, reading a chapter here and there. This one seemed more about affirming the loving relationship between two men as just as valid as one between a man and a woman. Daryl flipped back to the face sheet and saw that it had first been published in the  late seventies. Damn near an antique. It was kind of weird to think about- how most of the humans left on Earth had finally (well, for the most part) gotten over the prejudices and pettiness that had seemed so important before the world turned to shit. He put it back in the bag and pulled out the _Porn_ _Star_ one still unsure about the hot dude on the lurid pink cover. Daryl sure as shit couldn’t imagine doing anything with that guy, but with Rick it made all sorts of dinosaur-sized butterflies jump around in his gut. The book wasn’t very big, and Daryl got quite an education; he read about tops and power bottoms and adult industry drug use, and high fiber diets and more than he ever wanted to know about  what can go in and come out of his asshole, thank you very much. He also learned about douching, enemas, and shower nozzles.  It was interesting, if a bit gross. Hell, Daryl didn’t even know if anal sex was something that Rick would even be interested in. And how exactly did they decide who would do what? Flip a coin?

Daryl tried to imagine that and couldn’t help the snort. He put the book away with a little shake of his head.

How _would_ that work, exactly?  Daryl knew that a lot of people would think of the handjobs they’d exchanged as not _actual_ sex. Hell, one of the authors of the books he’d just flipped through would think that they hadn’t had “real” sex. Daryl thought it sure as hell _was_ , but according to what he’d read of both books sexuality between men wasn’t as easily defined.

Rubbing against Rick like they’d done in the rain, and in the bed, having Rick’s cock in his hand or his in Rick’s, the idea of having Rick spread out in front of him, being able to lick or kiss anything he wanted. . .  Daryl cleared his throat and sat up, absolutely refusing to get hard while trapped in a car with three of the most observant people he’d ever seen. Daryl stared out of the window, wondering how much time he had burned while lost in his head.

The landscape had changed.

Instead of the rolling hills peppered with dairy and pig farms, the hills had turned to something a little more tangible. Daryl had to swallow a few times as his ears popped. He could see the mountains rising above them, now and it brought a sense of foreboding that he didn’t expect. Before they were just scenery. Now, it seemed like a real obstacle that could interfere with their plans.

“I’m gonna go around the city, I think. As much as I can.”  

“You might not be able to as much as you hoped. You can try. . .” Rick sucked his teeth as he tried to stare down at the atlas page. “Maybe near Riner or Floyd? We can always backtrack if we need to.”

He leaned over to show Abraham the map. The big man nodded, and continued whistling tunelessly under his breath as he drove, taking everything in stride.

Everything went about as well as could be expected until they took the exit for I-81. As soon as Abraham downshifted, Daryl wanted to reach for his weapon.  Everything was. . . wrong. Quiet. Too empty. Both sides of the interstate were completely empty.  No cars, no walkers, no nothing.

“Is this an evacuation route?” Rick’s voice sounded just as wary as Daryl felt. Prior to this point they’d gone through a mix of small towns, suburban areas, and farmland as they’d gone steadily west. There had been evidence of people; rusted cars, burnt buildings, walkers milling around.

“Do I look like a fuckin’ travel agent?” Abraham frowned so deeply his mustache quivered.

“It had to be, Dad, look. There’s like nothing. No signs either.”

The exit and road signs _had_ been removed.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. This ain’t England after WWII. The Army way if I ever saw it. What, do they think that the damn walkers are gonna stop and ponder over a street sign?”

“I think they were probably more worried about humans, after the fact.” Daryl kept his voice quiet, knowing that Abraham’s frustration was more that they had gone so far on just a hunch.”

“Fuck it. We’re still going, right?”  Rick huffed a frustrated breath. “Just keep your eyes open, yeah?”

“My eyes?” Carl sounded doubtful. Rick sucked in a sharp breath, having obviously misspoke. Daryl could almost _hear_ the kid smirk. “Aye. Or, should I say... ' _Eye'._ ”

“Ca--”

“Eye will do my best, dad. I’m not too bad of a pupil.”

“Ca--rrl.”

“Iris my case.”

“ _Carl_.”

Carl held up both hands, grinning at his dad, who had twisted around in the seatbelt, trying to look at Carl before he’d realized his son was being a twerp.

“Are we goin’ or not? Daylight’s wasting.”  Abraham accelerated, turning so that they were headed towards Radford, following the map more than the street signs. “We’ll have to watch though, I don’t much want to get lost in an unfamiliar area.” He waited a beat. “I don’t like it when the odds are imposseyeball.”

Carl actually laughed out loud, carefully hitting Abraham’s hand in a high-five as Abraham held up his huge paw over the back of the truck’s front seat.

“Y’all are all damn idiots.”

“ _We’re_ damn idiots?” Abraham raised both eyebrows in the rear view mirror, and met Daryl’s gaze. “With them books you’ve been pourin’ over for the past two hours... “  Abraham gave him a look like, ‘ _is this okay?’_ and Daryl twitched his shoulder in a tiny shrug. He didn’t really care. He knew Abraham didn’t have any reason to bring up Rick’s name, and he wasn’t ashamed of reading about sex. The mood had shifted enough from frustration, to nerves, to completely stupid puns, that Daryl was okay with taking a bit of ribbing.

“What. I like to read.”  

“Hey. No complaints here. But I think if anyone ever needed even more proof that God had a sense of fuckin’ humor, even after all of this,” Abraham waved his hand around expansively, obviously indicating the apocalyptic situation in which they now found themselves, “The fact that he put a man’s sweet spot up his ass kind of erases all doubt.”

Daryl blinked, refusing to blush. “I haven’t gotten that far. But Eric said he’d be there for any questions that I might have.”

“Oh well that sounds like a plan. God might judge and i don't so if you want get your prostate beaten like a pinata good for you.” Abraham actually waggled his eyebrows in the mirror then subsided, clearly  thinking hard about something.

Daryl very distinctly heard Rick swallow hard enough that his throat clicked.

“Although- and I’m all for it man, but.  Aaron and Eric? I mean. . . you had to cross the sexual street but are you the filling in that suburban sandwich? Or, just an appetizer?”

Daryl felt his face go nuclear. He stared determinedly up at the ceiling of the truck, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He could see that Rick had mangled the atlas in his grip, and Carl was covering his face with both hands. There was literally nothing he could say to that without giving more than he wanted to away. He sent a small apology to both Aaron and Eric, neither of whom deserved to be talked about like this.

“Oh god.” Carl sounded plaintive. “I’m gonna need so much therapy.”

“Now, now, kid. Can’t  have you monopolizing Denise with your medical and psychological needs.  Maybe Enid will do some hands on therapy for you.”

Carl made a strangled sound behind his hands, his ears going bright red.

Everyone was quiet for a few seconds.  

“Well son,” Rick said. “Guess that’s one way to work on your hand-eye coordination.”

“Oh my _GOD._ That’s it! I’ll walk!”

Rick, Abraham and Daryl broke into completely immature snickers, more at Carl’s reaction than anything else.  Carl flipped all of them the double bird, then started laughing with them, face still fire-engine red.

Daryl couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. Abraham was loud and boisterous, huge belly laughs that were all the funnier for their ridiculousness. Carl’s voice warbled between the high register and low register as he giggled, and frankly _that_ made all four of them laugh all the harder. Daryl knew that he had never heard Rick laugh quite like that before, and immediately resolved to try to make it something he heard again.  

Preferably without humiliating himself.

Finally though, the slightly hysterical laughs trailed off.

“Hey, can we pull over? I gotta pee.” Carl squirmed in his seat still trying to wipe the huge grin off his face.

“Yeah. I can use a break too.” Daryl sucked in a deep breath still refusing to make eye contact with anyone.  Abraham pulled the truck over, and they all checked around before relieving themselves.  All it had taken was _one_ walker to materialize out of nowhere _one_ time when Daryl was taking a leak, and that was it. He’d been paranoid every since.

“Hey dad. . . what’s that?”

Daryl could actually _hear_ Abraham struggling not to make the dick joke, then the tone of Carl’s voice hit him and he was suddenly alert, adrenaline rushing through his system. Carl wouldn’t sound like that for no reason.

“Looks like the sun glinting off a mirror or something.”  Rick squinted, looking down over the curve. While they weren’t exactly that far up, the road had obviously been carved through part of the rock face of the mountain. “No.. wait.” Rick pointed. “That’s Army.”

Abraham walked back to the back of the truck and rustled in his backpack. Daryl walked up to stand by Rick and Carl, all three of them squinting over the edge of the road. “Here,” Abraham said gruffly, handing Rick the binoculars. Daryl looked around, noting that there were rubber marks on the pavement, as well as some obvious signs of broken trees.

“Yeah. Looks like a truck went over the side. Everyone keep a look out.”  He handed the binoculars to Abraham, who squinted.

“Looks like cargo. M939, but it’s hard to tell for sure. It’s pretty banged to shit.” He handed the binoculars back to Rick.

“Worth checking out?” Daryl cleared his throat. All at once the emptiness seemed eerie and he felt the skin on his arms erupt in goosebumps.

Rick hesitated, staring through the binoculars. He handed them to Daryl. When Daryl looked, he could see why Rick had hesitated. The truck had been on larger side. Daryl didn’t know much about Army vehicles. He could probably pick out a tank, or some kind of light artillery, but that was about it. Still, this was neither of those, and had been fucked up pretty badly either before it fell or during the crash.

“Maybe a convoy?”

Rick shrugged. “Maybe. Come on. Let’s go. We’re not far now.”

They got back into the truck. It was as though the joking from earlier hadn’t happened. Daryl could tell that the other three had picked up on his uneasy feeling. All three of them clutched weapons and were very obviously on high alert. Daryl couldn’t even specifically name a reason why he felt this way. There certainly wasn’t anything overt.

Abraham drove for a few minutes, then turned off the interstate. The road here was just a state highway, but there were still no vehicles. It was almost jarring to see the lone walker near what looked like a small house back off from the road, but that was it.

“So what is this place?”

Abraham shrugged. “An ammunition plant. The government had them doing other things there too, I think. I’m not completely sure.”

Daryl furrowed his brow, thinking. He highly doubted that there would be ammo and weapons stockpiled there, assuming of course that the place wasn’t overrun. He was expecting something more like the Armory they’d seen, if he was honest with himself. He sure as shit didn’t want to be the voice of doom, not when they’d come so far on what was essentially a ‘what if.’

The sense of anticipation had ratcheted up enough that Daryl noticed even Rick was nervously tapping his thumb on his thigh.  Abraham turned off onto another road, then a few minutes later another, and stopped the truck in front of a regular gate.

The four of them sat there, staring through the windshield at the scene before them.

The large orange and white fence behind the guard station was open. Daryl read the words ‘ **QUARANTINE** ’  and winced. FEMA trailers and several hundred army tents stretched as far as the eye could see.  This might have been a refugee camp, or some kind of on-site medical unit.  Daryl opened his truck door and got out, walking carefully towards the guard gate, and through. A burnt out jeep had either crashed through the gate or had been abandoned near it, but it was stable enough for Daryl to climb on the hood in order to see over the fence.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

He saw evidence of a hasty cleanup and an even hastier exit. Here and there were a few walkers, who stumbled towards the sound of their truck pulling up, but the gates were sturdy enough to keep them there.

“Aw fuck _me_.” Abraham climbed up besides Daryl. They both looked at the huge body dump, where men, women, and children all had evidence of bullet holes in their bodies. There had obviously been some attempt at a proper burial at one point, but the bodies now tumbled together in a huge, rotting pile.  Huge swarms of flies buzzed over their corpses, and Daryl breathed through his mouth automatically.

“No trucks. No vehicles of any kind. God _dammit_!” Abraham swung his rifle at the hood of the jeep with a loud crash.

Daryl hadn’t even noticed. He climbed down from the jeep’s hood, shaking his head. “Not gonna be anything in there but ghosts.”

He met Rick’s gaze. He could tell immediately that Rick hadn’t really thought they’d have much luck with this trip. He gave a minute shrug and feeling like they had somehow all lost the plot, turned and got back into their vehicle. Daryl got behind the driver’s seat. It was almost noon, and he knew that they’d probably stop back in the same place they had before, before going on back to the ASZ.

“I’m guessing that they had orders to convoy out. That explains the one that wrecked, and why there’s no vehicles in this place- I mean, look. It’s massive.”  

Abraham's face was like a thundercloud as he crammed himself into the backseat, by Carl. Daryl pulled the seat up as far as he could, and the big man grunted his thanks.

“We sure that we don’t want to check the place out to be sure?”

Carl’s tentative voice was a little too loud in the truck, and Abraham gave a short shake of his head. “No point. If there was a military presence here, they took everything that wasn’t nailed down. SOP.”  He sighed so hard his lips flapped, making a _thhbtbtbtbtbt_ sound. “ _Fuck_ , guys. I’m sorry.”

“No big. If we push through we can make it back by sundown.”

Daryl started the truck and turned around, driving back the way they’d come. It was all a bit anticlimactic, but it did explain the emptiness of the area. He wondered how long they’d held out before the walkers overran the living. Any group that big (and there had easily been hundreds of bodies, military and civilian alike) in that pile was more of a security nightmare waiting to happen. All it would take is one old guy dropping dead from a stroke, and the whole place could have. . .

“Hey. Didn’t you say there were some firing ranges near here?” Daryl looked over at Rick, who looked down at the atlas page.

“Well, if this place is dead, they’re going to be. First place they’d go, right?” Carl had whipped out his pegboard again and was practicing, staring down at the little board with great focus.

“Maybe.  I didn’t really check around here. That was near the National Guard Armory.”

“Look, going into that place would be stupid. We might find a few things overlooked but god knows how much of a herd has been locked up in the buildings. When I woke up in the hospital, there had been enough dead in the cafeteria that they’d had to board up and chain the doors. Military had taken out the living and the dead there, too.”  Rick flinched a little at the memory. Daryl found his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Not worth the chance. But, we’re already here. Roanoke wasn’t that far.  Would be easy enough to grab a phone book and check out the area. At this point we’re not out anything but time, and we’ve got a few more days before we’re expected back.”

For Rick, it was a speech. Daryl saw that Abraham had literally perked up, straightening his spine and no longer looking like a solid mass of frustration and anger. “We could do that. . .”

It wasn’t too difficult to find a gas station with a pay phone, and from there to  rip out the pages of the yellow pages they needed. Turns out that there were only four  places in the surrounding area, a mix of shooting ranges and gun shops.

“We can handle it if we’re careful. We might get lucky- Roanoke could be abandoned like the rest of the area. Or even less populated like Alexandria was.” Abraham busily marked each address on the map.

“Yeah, well if it is, best look out for quarries,” Daryl muttered under his breath. Apparently not _too_ under his breath, because Carl snorted a laugh.

Abraham gave him directions, and they drove off.  The first place was a huge sporting center, and it had been looted within an inch of its life. The second was an outdoor range that had been favored by local law enforcement. Daryl couldn’t say why it reminded him of Grady, but a good number of the walkers roaming around had a few rounds of ammo on them, so it wasn’t a completely wasted trip.

“You think we should head out, or try to knock out these other two places?” Rick’s low voice startled Daryl enough that he jumped, then felt ridiculous for jumping. He looked more carefully out of the smashed up window, guessing that the time was about three or so. For a graveyard, the city was almost pretty in the late afternoon light. Daryl tried to concentrate, staring hard at the sun glinting off the capitol building. Abraham had been right. Either due to the evacuation or the refugee center, the city wasn’t as populated as they had expected when they first decided to skirt it. Which wasn’t to say that there were no walkers.

There were plenty.

They had given Carl a chance to help clear the area, and he’d done well enough, kicking the walkers in the leg or knee and causing them to fall, before sliding the blade of the knife into their skull. The other three had been close enough to help if needed, and it had worked out well enough, allowing Carl to build back some of his confidence, although Rick had fairly vibrated in place with nerves the first few times Carl had gone in for the kill.

The line of Rick’s body was warm against his, and Daryl stepped away, not trusting his own reaction to be discrete enough. He had to clear his throat before he could respond. “We can probably get the one on the outskirts of town quickly enough.”

“Hey. . . is something wrong?”  Rick stepped closely again, and Daryl looked a little desperately to where Abraham and Carl were checking what looked to be a storeroom, not twenty feet away.

He had a quick thought - _fuck it-_ before grabbing Rick by the biceps and swinging him around so that his back was against the drywall. If Carl or Abraham walked a little bit towards the sales counter, they’d be completely visible.

Daryl took Rick’s mouth, hard, taking advantage of Rick’s open-mouthed shock. He slotted their bodies together, licking into Rick’s mouth with much more desperation than skill. He heard Rick’s shocked, _‘uhhn’_ then the clack of Rick’s teeth as they both moved in the same direction, fighting for ownership of the kiss. Daryl moved his leg so that it pushed up against Rick’s balls, giving him pressure to grind against and Rick’s eyes fluttered closed, only to spring open again in wide-eyed shock when Daryl jerked his mouth away, and in a voice as normal as he could make it, he spoke. “Hey Abe, you think we can hit both tonight, or should we find someplace to camp?” Daryl bent back to Rick’s mouth, only to push him away when he heard Abe’s heavy footstep towards them. Daryl turned away and bent to tie his bootlace, leaving Rick to recover by himself.

“We can probably make it. Not much left here-- hey, Rick? You okay, man? You look a little flushed.”

“Oh yeah, just. Uh.  Hot in here.”

Daryl couldn’t have hidden the shit-eating grin if he had wanted to. He listened to Rick clear his throat and watched Abraham look from the broken window to Rick, and back to the window. A very comfortable breeze sent the dust and leaves on the floor whirling.

“Oh...kay.”  Abraham turned away, shaking his head.  “C’mon, kid. I’m driving.”

Rick waited until he and Carl had made their careful way outside before turning to Daryl. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” His blue gaze had darkened with a glint of something almost dangerous. He walked calmly to the truck, ready to head on out.

Daryl just shrugged, licking his lips to chase the taste of Rick. He took a deep, steadying breath.

He was looking forward to it.

  
  
  
**TBC!**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves*
> 
> Hi. Yes, it's me. Er... you might notice that this road trip seems strangely lighthearted? Yeaaaah. Well, fans of the comic and the tv show know what's coming next, so prepare yourselves. It will be a very bumpy ride. 
> 
> Thank Jlm for the Abraham dialogue. I pretty much stole it directly from her. (Don't worry. She gave me permission.) 
> 
> Oh and yes those books are all real. I flubbed; I'm pretty sure the Porn Star one is only an ebook, so yeah ignore that minor detail. 
> 
> Oh shit one more note. Sorry. I know you probably hate these cluttering up your fic. I live in the flattest state. My house is technically under sea level. However, I did go and visit the Blue Ridge mountains when I was younger- but a lot of what I remember was subsidized by google maps. Err, sorry if I got your town wrong. Try to ignore that too. :)
> 
> EDIT: 7/20- I posted this without my lovely beta, **FoxyK** giving it the seal of approval, and thankfully, user **slystir** pointed out some goofs for me. I appreciate it!


	25. Chapter 14- The Edges Are No Longer Parallel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14- The Edges Are No Longer Parallel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to **Lotr58** who is a little too far away for me to hug, so you get a ridiculous chapter instead.
> 
> ...
> 
> And you'll notice that we have an end chapter now. Yep. This story is actually going to end. It seems a miracle to me, too. :D

 

“Well, _shit_.”

Carl winced when Abraham kicked the side of the empty shelving, sending it all crashing to the floor in a dusty plume. His son stared at the posters behind the counter, frowning a little. Rick saw Daryl shift slightly closer to Carl and sighed, just as dejected, if not nearly as upset as Abraham.

“This whole fuckin’ trip was a _waste_. Two bases, four gun shops. . .” The big man made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “We might as well have just stayed home.”

Rick shrugged, surveying the small store. The roof was gone, and the second floor had huge spots of rot where water had leaked through. The only thing not destroyed by the weather or god knew what was a small part of the front area and the back offices. They had found some coffee in the back of the office’s desk, but that was it for supplies.

Daryl had been less than thrilled that most of it was decaf. Rick didn't blame him. Once, as a joke, Shane had switched the office coffee to decaf without telling anyone. Half the office was convinced they had the flu before a smirking Shane finally confessed.

Daryl looked up at the sky through the hole in the ceiling. The clouds were heavy enough that Rick knew they’d catch some rain pretty soon; in fact, he was surprised that Abraham hadn’t complained about that as well. The ex-soldier was cranky when things didn’t go his way, more prone to react with what Rick’s mama would call a smart-ass mouth than with his head. “We need to find someplace more defensible,” he said, frowning. As if to underscore that point, a cooler wind blew through the crappy, old building, causing Daryl to shiver.

“Oh because of _course_ it’s gonna fuckin’ rain.” Abraham crossed his hands over his chest, frowning.

 _There_ _it_ _was_.

“Dad?”

Carl hadn’t talked in long enough that when he looked at his son, then at the wall where he was looking, he noticed that Daryl and Abraham had done the same. “What’s up?”

Carl stared at a poster on the wall, head cocked as he thought. His eye narrowed as he he clearly worked through a problem, and Rick raised both eyebrows in Daryl’s direction, who gave a small shrug. Rick forced himself to look away from the way Daryl’s mouth twisted in a tiny smirk. It had only been a few hours since Daryl had pressed those lips onto his and the just the thought made Rick have to force himself to focus on other things. “Carl?”

“Do you guys. . . see a computer around here?”

The thought was so anachronistic that Rick stared at his son, utterly confused. “A computer?”

Carl sucked his teeth, looking upward, following the path of the water and rot of the collapsed roof. His gaze fell over the register, then the ransacked supply room back in the back of the small building.

“Carl, what on---”

“Just. Just, bear with me for a second. Can you just check in the office?”

Daryl spoke up, “Naw. I remember pretty well. Nothin' in there but a few filing cabinets. The desk just had some papers, and old coffee mugs.”

Carl’s mouth stretched in a wide grin. “Excellent.” He passed by a still lost Rick, and clearly frustrated Abraham. He looked around the desk and office, then warily up to the ceiling. There were several water spots where the rot from the rest of the building had obviously spread, but it looked dry enough. He sat down in the chair and bent to the desk filing cabinet, looking through the labels on the neatly organized folders. “I saw the poster out there, and it hit me. Free shipping. As in, they shipped their ammo or whatever, maybe delivered it in person, but they had- _aha_!”

Rick hadn’t seen his son smile like that in months. Not even being told he could come on this little road trip had caused a reaction like that. Carl clutched the green folder to his chest, then opened it up, rifling through the names.

“We’d have to check with the map to be sure, but a place like this, no computer other than the register, kind of old fashioned, right? No fancy displays like the first place we went to, or deep vaults like the second. It’s a . . . whadya call it. Sodapop shop.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Mom and Pop shop.”

“Yeah. That’s it. But his mailing list is . . . it’s right here. Receipts with addresses might be too, if we look a bit.”

Abraham stared at Carl with his mouth open a little in surprise. “Well, damn, kid. I’ll be dipped in dingleberries. That’s. . . _fuck_ , that’s smart.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows, a low whistle cutting through the air. Rick couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“Yeah? I was thinking-” Carl turned to look at his dad. “You said they weren’t expecting us for a week or so. We could take tonight to map out some of these places, and the ones that aren’t too out of our way. . . the people that he shipped might have moved on, or they might be dead, but their _stuff_. . .” He smiled again and Rick wanted to walk over to Carl and hug him. He refrained, but only just.

“So we find shelter, and we figure out where this guy shipped all this shit to. But we best get a move on. That thunder and lightning is gonna bring ‘em out quicker ‘n shit.”

Daryl walked out towards the truck, stopping to flip the hat off Carl’s head, affectionately. Carl acted put out, but practically preened as he followed behind Abraham, dusting off his hat as he went.

The four of them sat in the truck’s cab, having a quick conversation about a good place to go when the rain started to spit down, slowly at first, then building with speed and fervor.

“I think one of those McSoccermom houses on the outskirts is our best bet. Bigger lawns, garages for the truck, possibility of only one family coming to eat us instead of an entire apartment building, you know. All the perks.” Abraham stroked his mustache, stretching in confined space. It was dangerous to sit here with the windows slowly fogging up, so Rick shrugged and started the truck, turning it back around and out of the downtown area to somewhere somewhat less populated. Just because they hadn’t seen many walkers in this town didn’t mean that they weren’t _somewhere_ . Rick and his people had learned that fact _extremely_ well in the past few weeks.

About ten minutes later they had found what appeared to be a fairly good spot. The subdivision reminded him vaguely of Shirewilt, way back before Alexandria, but the houses didn’t have the same hopeless sense of desperation to them. They found a house on the corner, split off a little from the rest.

Daryl and Abraham slipped out in the rain to clear the house, going in through the front door.

“Hey.”

Carl looked over to Rick. “Yeah?”

“That was a fucking _smart_ idea.” He leaned over and wrapped his hand around the back of Carl’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. “I’m proud of you, Carl.” The bandages over his eye socket brushed against Rick’s hair, and he tried not to flinch away- not because of what had happened, or of what it would look like, but god fucking _damn_ it this was his _son_ , his _baby_ and this fucking life was so, unimaginably unfairly cruel.

“Thanks, Dad,” Carl’s whispered and leaned back.

Rick nodded, his throat tight. He cleared his throat, and they both pretended that the other wasn’t a little teared up.

They heard the squeak of the garage door opening, and Rick pulled the truck inside. He got out and slammed shut the door, looking around. With the garage door shut, and the overcast day outside it was pretty dark in the garage.

“This place ain’t bad. We locked down the main room, and are all in the master bedroom. Rich assholes have a fireplace there.” Daryl sounded impressed, despite himself. “Abraham’s working on security, but everything else is clear.”

The truck bounced a little as Carl threw down their gear.

“Kinda creeps me out how good of a shape all this shit is still in. Keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Shit, man. Wish you wouldn’t tempt fate that way. That’s the last thing we need.”

Without needing to talk about it, he and Daryl both helped Carl bring in their gear. Carl went around to check the toilet tanks for water, and Abraham was whistling to himself looking through the cabinets in the kitchen.

They’d been in a lot of houses for a lot of different reasons, but the basic layouts were always roughly the same. They made their way back to the bedroom, noting that Abraham had already propped a bookshelf against the window in the master bedroom, the whole area was dark, and without needing to think too much about it, Rick pushed the door shut with his heel, set down his bags, and pressed his lips to Daryl’s.

“Oh fuck, Oh _fuck_ Rick _._ This is gonna kill me,” Daryl groaned, dropping his own bags with a clatter against the bed. Rick bit down on Daryl’s bottom lip, pulling it slightly enough that Daryl couldn’t help the shiver that shuddered down his spine. Rick wanted to do more, to fuck him against the wall, or the bottom of the bed, but knew that this was borrowed time, stolen minutes of passion that were gonna get them caught if he didn’t tone it the fuck down.

He broke away with a low, wet sound of their lips disengaging and almost forgot his resolve as Daryl chased his mouth, kissing him back like he couldn’t quite help himself. He felt Daryl clutching at his hip and took Daryl’s hand in his, spinning the other man around and pressing him up against the wall, moving so that there was no space between their bodies. He thrust his hips in a filthy grind against Daryl’s ass, not all the way hard yet, but certainly turned on enough that he could get there in a hurry.

Rick couldn’t keep his hands from brushing roughly against the muscles in Daryl’s arms, or curling around the sharp bones of the other man’s hips. He could smell the sharp tang of Daryl’s sweat and rubbed his nose against the hot skin where Daryl’s neck met his shoulder, inhaling. He scraped his teeth and the bristles of his beard against the back of Daryl’s neck, grinning fiercely at the shocked, needy sound he heard in response. He could taste Daryl’s sweat and wanted to just bite down, to mark him as Rick’s. “I. _Fuck_ , Daryl. I want. . .”

Rick felt Daryl press his ass back against him in a filthy push of his hips and it was jarring enough that Rick’s eyes widened, shocked at what he had done, at what he was _doing_ , at _where he was doing it._

He forced himself to take a step back. Another. _Another._ He breathed, slowly, then even more slowly, breath puffing out of him with a little wisp of sound.

“I--,” But he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He was sorry? He was so fucking turned on that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing?

Daryl swallowed so hard that Rick heard it from where he stood. Without saying anything, Daryl reached out to open the bedroom door with fingers that shook and walked out, letting the door shut behind him with a soft _click_.

Rick scrubbed his hands through his curls, frustrated. “God fucking _damn_ it,” he swore, not at all under his breath. He managed not to shout, but it was a near thing. He didn’t _want_ to wait. He couldn’t keep his goddamn hands off of Daryl, and if he didn’t fucking tone it down some, he was gonna do something really fucking stupid.

Even stupider than kissing him in the house with the others less than twenty feet away. He could wait. He _could._

Probably.

* * *

 

Alexandria had changed in the weeks that they’d been gone.

They’d seen some of the changes as they’d driven out, but coming up on it like this was a total shock to the system.

Before, it had looked safe. Rick would never forget the way he’d closed his eyes the first time they’d rolled up to the gates, desperate and afraid to hope that this place could be anything but a fevered dream. He’d heard the children laughing, and the low buzz of what had sounded like _music,_ and he’d known that he had to have this place, had to keep it for his family.

Now, it looked like a fortress.

There was only one very obvious path to the gates. From where they had stopped the vehicle, Rick could see that they’d actually expanded the walls, so that the church was inside the gates. Or, more specifically, they’d welded more steel to extend the gate. Rick could see proper scaffolding to give the sentries a view in every direction, and four people were on each one. Up there, Rosita said something into the walkie-talkie, and the gate rolled open.

Carl nudged him, and Rick looked over, a little overwhelmed. Someone had painted a sign on the outside of the walls.

**WELCOME TO THE ALEXANDRIA SAFE ZONE.**

**MERCY** **FOR THE LOST.**

 **VENGEANCE** **FOR THE PLUNDERERS.**

“Well, shit. They’ve been busy.” Abraham drove inside, whistling low as they passed through the gates. The walls on the back side had indeed been reinforced with both concrete and brick, giving a solid base for the steel sheeting to rest against.

“Not visible from the outside,” Daryl said, staring hard at the area that hadn’t been finished yet. Someone had marked the area with two by fours, and the materials to mix the cement and mortar were neatly stacked to the east side of the community’s walls.

The area that Maggie and Glenn had marked for farmland had been tilled, and Rick could see Maggie wearing a ridiculously large hat and doing something to the soil.

They drove down the main road and over to the armory. Carol stood there, leaning against the post of the porch, watching them come in. “Hmm.” She inhaled, eyes taking in the four of them with a quick glance. “Welcome back. You seen Michonne yet?”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “No. Are we supposed to see Michonne?”

Carol grinned, the smile stopping short of her eyes. It was concerning that the smile was perfunctory. She’d dropped a lot of her ‘Stepford Wife’ impression after the Wolves, but to see her pull it on the four of them was. . . strange, to say the least. “Might want to. She’s been frothing at the bit- guess you guys were a bit later than you said you’d be.” She exhaled from her cigarette, smoke billowing around her face for a moment, making her look like a dragon.

Abraham parked, and Rick opened his door, sliding out of the truck. “Did anything happen?”

Carol shrugged. “Depends on what you define as ‘anything’, Rick.” She flung the butt of the smoke off into the grass and gave them a little wave before walking off.

Rick looked at Daryl, who was staring after her with a little furrow on his brow. Obviously he was just as concerned. Before Rick could say anything, Olivia opened the porch door with a screech of hinges and Rick turned to smile at her, not wanting to question her in front of other people. Michonne would probably know, and he could check later.

“Hey guys! Looks like you had a decent haul. Good timing, honestly. I think people were starting to get worried.”

“We have plenty in the pantry. No call to get all worried. These S’getti Rings aren’t _that_ great.”

“Oh.” Olivia’s whole face fell. “Well, actually, that’s not. I mean, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but--” She looked a little nervous as she stood there, shifting her weight from side to side, wringing her hands.

“What are you talking about?” Abraham frowned. Rick understood his confusion; other than Spenser and his clandestine food raids, the pantry had been fairly well stocked for a group this size.

“While you four have been off gallivantin’ about, we’ve had a bit of a clusterfuck here, Rick.”

Rick jumped about a foot in the air. Michonne didn’t sound mad, but after Carol’s weird reaction, Rick felt the stirrings of nervousness in his gut. Rick didn’t even question how she managed to walk up behind him without making noise. Michonne was just _terrifying_ like that.

“Well, let’s get this stuff inside. You can tell me in there.” Rick picked up a few of the tubs and made his way up the steps and into the storage area.

Michonne nodded, grabbed one of the other bags and followed him.

Usually the armory was downstairs, with the pantry taking up most of the space in the garage. The armory didn’t look any different, and they unloaded the weapons and ammo they’d found there with no problems. They had only found a few bags full of food though, and Abraham walked past Rick to the garage door, following Carl who turned on the light for him. Daryl brought up the rear with the other bag of canned and prepackaged food they’d found.

Oliva shut the front door behind them, and to Rick’s shock actually locked it. He noticed the extra deadbolt on the door and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She turned to sit in the little living room area that wasn’t stuffed with household items and they all followed, finding places to sit. Olivia was still nervous, and kept jiggling her leg up and down, waiting for Michonne to speak.

Rick had expected to drop off their goodies, kiss Judith, and be well on his way to a hot shower by now. This tension was unexpected, and he could see that both Daryl and Carl had picked up on Olivia’s nervousness.

“Well, hit me.” Rick turned to Michonne, trying to inwardly brace for the worst.

“About a day after you guys left, we noticed that a good bit of our supply of food had disappeared.”

“ _What_?” Abraham didn’t quite shout, but it wasn’t far off.

“What do you mean, disappeared?” Rick was no less shocked, but tried to keep it a little quieter.

Michonne sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck, sending her braids swinging with a soft sound. “Just what I said, man. We didn’t really think about it with everything that happened while the community was attacked, and then later after the wall fell, and even _later_ when we were putting all the pieces back together, but someone has broken in and stolen our shit.”

“Deanna never wanted us to keep things locked. She said it would send the wrong message.” Olivia’s whisper was directed at the floor, and Rick was starting to get an inkling that she was afraid of _him._ That didn’t sit well, not at all.

Rick felt like things were happening a little too quickly. “We’re sure that it’s no one here?”

Michonne looked at him like he was too stupid to live. “What do you think? We’re down to less than forty living souls. We have twenty structures, a church, and the whole fucking _world_ outside in which to hide things.” She sighed. “We got lucky though. Well sort of. We had a witness. You remember Stevie?”

Rick nodded, faintly remembering the nondescript man that worked with Tobin on the construction crews.

“He was on watch three nights ago. We’d just finished getting the sentry guard posts up, and I guess they didn’t know that we started putting two people on night watches. It was one of the Wolves. They snuck in, and Stevie. . . well, he tried to stop them, but the intruder had a knife and.” She frowned. “Gabriel was on watch with him. Saw the whole thing.”

“What happened to Stevie?” Daryl asked, frowning.

Michonne just shook her head. Olivia sniffed and dabbed her handkerchief at her eyes.

“And the Wolf?”

“Escaped. Gabriel went to try to help Stevie with the bleeding but it was too late. The man escaped.” Michonne leaned forward. “There’s a few other things I need to fill you in on, too. You’re gonna like it about as much as this.”

“Well, shit.” Rick paused, thinking. “ How many people have keys to the new locks?”

“Just me.” Olivia was obviously still nervous, but jerked her chin up proudly. “And uh.” She dug in her pocket, handing Rick a small key. “And you.”

“Tara and Aaron organized a watch on the house just to be safe. Locks are also on the garage, and Eugene jimmied the garage door with enough sound traps that if anyone tries to force it open, it’s gonna damn near sing the Hallelujah Chorus.”

“Yeah, I saw that you all cemented the door to the outside patio, keeping it so there’s only one way inside the garage. Good idea.” Abraham nodded, sounding approving.

Rick sighed, pinching the top of his nose.

“Okay. Let’s unload everything and take an inventory. We can do a house meeting in twenty.”

“I can help Olivia inventory the ammo.” Carl spoke for the first time since hearing about the stolen goods. “I know most of the stuff we picked up.” He shrugged with one arm.

Rick spared a smile for Carl, mind already fast forwarding to the house meeting and whatever had fallen apart while they’d been gone. For the first time, Rick felt a tiny smidge of guilt; maybe he and Daryl shouldn’t have both left at the same time. But. . . it had been good. Despite not finding one thing that Abraham thought they’d find, spending time with Carl and Daryl-- and even Abraham-- had been a respite.

Rick nodded to Olivia and stood up, Michonne, Abraham, and Daryl standing up a half second later. “I’ll leave the truck here and come pick it up later.”

Olivia nodded, already rifling through the papers on a desk for her ledger.

The four of them walked outside, taking in the busy community. Very few people seemed to be just sitting on their porches anymore. Rick saw groups of people working industriously, and even individuals busy going from one group to the next.

It was quite a difference from the magazine-like quality of what they’d seen when they first got here.

“I’ve gotta take care of something.” Abraham swung his bag onto his shoulders, smiling a little. “I’ll catch ya later, Rick. Michonne. Daryl. You can fill me in on the shit I need to know, yeah?”

Rick nodded. Rosita was working on the farm plot not too far away, and Rick figured that the big man earned the right to do what he wanted with his time. The three of them walked down the sidewalk, heading towards their house. The sound of the knock startled Rick, and he gaped a little at seeing Sasha opening the door, then stepping aside to let Abraham in. He couldn’t help but look at Rosita, who had tightened her hands on the shovel, but otherwise said nothing.

“Huh. Good for him.” Daryl’s voice held a note of satisfaction that told Rick that this wasn’t exactly a surprise. He sounded so much like one of the old ladies that gossiped at the grocery store that Rick had to bite the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t grin.

“Not our business,” Michonne said primly, elbowing them both in their ribs.

“Hey! I didn’t do anything!” Rick protested, laughing a little, turning to jog up the stairs.

“Oh stuff it. I could hear you thinkin’, Rick.” She smiled at him and Rick grinned back.

A few minutes ago, Rick had been brooding over the fact that someone had stolen into their home and stolen from them. Funny how idle speculation about someone’s love life could lighten the mood.

Still, Sasha could use a break. She’d had a rough time, what with Bob, then Ty. It had hit her hard, and Rick knew that she had fought hard to get some of her own self back.

Rick spied Maggie waving and waved back. She set down what she’d been working on and stood up, Glenn about a half a step behind. “Looks like that meeting is happening sooner rather than later. Might as well fill us in.”

Michonne nodded and held open the door.

“And then, the itsy bitsy spider bit Peter! It was very traumatic. Oh damn. You probably don’t know what traumatic means yet.”

“Ba!”

“Yep. It means bad.” Rick heard Tara’s voice stop for a moment, and what was obviously a kissy noise.

“What, no Batman?” He stepped into the corner, setting down his bags. Judith, hearing her dad’s voice whipped around, her entire face lighting up with drooly glee. Two teeth had popped in since they’d been gone, and Rick’s heart melted a little as he scooped her up, kissing her belly.

Judith shrieked and giggled, whacking him on the head with her teething ring.

Tara sniffed. “Carl and I made an executive decision. This is a Marvel household. She doesn’t need that kind of DC negativity in her life.” Tara cocked her head, thinking. “Wonder Woman is pretty badass though. Maybe once she’s potty trained.”

Daryl snorted.

Tara grinned at him. “Welcome back, guys.”

Rick swung Judith in a circle, but when she caught sight of Daryl, she shrieked again, reaching out both of her arms and almost flinging herself out of Rick’s arms. The look on Daryl’s face was absolutely gobsmacked as he took her in his arms, and Rick absolutely did _not_ react to the ‘hey little one. Kicked any ass today?’ that Daryl whispered to her in a low, impossibly gravelly voice, kissing the top of her head with a duck of his that sent his hair hiding his face.

Judith whacked him with the teething ring too, little fingers twisting into Daryl’s vest.

Michonne cleared her throat, and Rick looked at her, getting the feeling that it wasn’t the first time that she had tried to get his attention.

“Right, well we’ve had a few issues you need to know about. I’m just gonna wait for Mag--oh. Here she is.”

The screen door banged, and Maggie, Glenn, and Aaron walked in. Rick and Maggie hugged, and he shook Glenn’s and Aaron’s hand, then everyone settled back down in the living room. Rick stretched his legs out, watching out of the corner of his eye as Daryl set Judith in her playpen, setting her up with a sippy cup full of cold water and a new teething ring from the freezer.

“So probably the biggest problem is Carol.” Michonne spoke quickly, as though trying to get the bad taste of the words out of her mouth.

Daryl froze, then slowly turned to stare at Michonne. “Carol is not a _problem,”_ he almost spit out, voice low with temper.

Michonne held up one hand, forestalling him. “Just listen. It’s something. . . I can’t quite put my finger on it. It started with her and Morgan beating the shit out of each other, and then between Carl, and Sam, and the Zone being overrun she’s. . . she’s just. . .” Michonne, clearly never one for speeches, huffed a frustrated breath, trying to find the right words.

“I found a list she wrote. Of people, she. . . She killed, either indirectly or directly. And she’s with Morgan more times than not. I think. . . she needs. . .”

“Carol is tough,” Daryl spoke the words, still weirdly frozen.

“No one’s disputing that. I’m just worried about her is all. Maybe if you. . .” Maggie’s voice, gentle as always, had the opposite effect on Daryl’s mood. He glared down at the wooden floor under his feet, hard enough to burn a hole in the wood.

Rick knew that was more him beating himself up over leaving her when she had something going on, than anything else.

“What has Morgan been up to?”

“Oh man you weren’t there when he started the jail.” Glenn sounded shocked, like he’d forgotten that Rick had been gone for just a little over a fortnight.

“We have a jail?”

“Yeah we have a jail. It’s in the basement of that one unfinished house we kept him in when he first got here. It’s the darndest thing. He used cinder blocks and some of the concrete that we’d rolled in. Has bars and a reinforced door frame and everything.” Glenn leaned forward. “We let him roll with it. Don’t know what the hell we’d use a _jail_ for of all things, but it kept him busy and out of everyone’s hair.”

Rick caught Michonne’s gaze, and she gave a little shake of her head. She obviously remembered Morgan from awhile back, when they’d stumbled upon him in the apartment building. Rick appreciated that she could convey that he’d not gone back to that crazy man in the short time that he’d been gone without speaking it out loud.

Tara stood and went to the kitchen. Rick heard her rattling around in there.

“You know about the Wolf or Wolves that ripped us off, but since the extra security measures, we’ve not had any problems. We have enough food for a good month or so, but that’s with rationing. We can’t quite count on the gardens producing a good crop. We’ve planted carrots, beets, potatoes and some turnips, but we’re going by the almanacs in this area. An early freeze could kill off everything.” She brought her hands to her lower back and stretched, sighing with something popped. “We have plans for two greenhouses, and then there’s the park for the spring, but that doesn’t get us through winter.”

“What’s the game like?”

Glenn answered Daryl’s question. “Well, we can’t fish out of the pond anymore. Everyone was too afraid of contaminants, but Spencer said that there was never much fish in it anyway. There’s enough woodland that there has to be some game around, but well--” He broke off with a little frown. Glenn didn’t need to say it. They knew what it was like to put all their hopes on the game and local wildlife sustaining them, only to come up short.

Rick swallowed hard, feeling a little nauseous at the remembered taste of the dogmeat they’d eaten on the road, and been grateful for once they got past the greasy, stringy taste.

“The good news is that none of the canned stuff has an expiration date any time soon. We have some oats, and some other grains. Not much prepackaged stuff, really.”

“We brought some in. Not much, but might be a little variety.” Daryl’s hands twitched, as though reaching for his bow. “I can go out starting tomorrow. Start laying in whatever I can find to smoke.”

“Mrs. Needlemeyer had a jerky machine.” Aaron’s quiet words caused everyone to freeze for a moment, before breaking out in rolling laughter. It wasn’t really funny, but at the same time it was hilarious. Tara came back into the room, holding a tray of what looked like iced tea. She started handing them out, one by one. For a second, Rick couldn’t really believe how much everything had changed- now they were in a safe house, having tea (iced!) served to them.

“Right. Saw that most of the construction is going well. Whose idea was it with the reinforced lookout towers?” Rick sat back, nodding his thanks at Tara.

“Gabriel’s I think. We found those metal shipping Pods, and Tobin had a crew weld the metal of what we already had to it, so that it was more secure. Used a good bit of concrete and set them part way in the land. Trust me. They’re not going anywhere.”

“Nice.”

“Tobin’s been amazing really. I guess he’d been itching to do a lot of these things before, and Reg had talked him out of it.” Michonne shrugged. “I don’t know if that was ego or naivete, but once we get those walls up, it will be a bitch to get in here if we don’t want someone to.”

Rick nodded, sipping his tea. It still seemed like he’d have to give back his Born ‘n Bred In The South card given that he was actually pleased to drink unsweet iced tea, but it tasted amazing so he wasn’t going to complain. “Anything else?”

“Not really.” Maggie ticked them off on her fingers. Carol, Morgan, Wolves, Food, Walls. . .”

Rick nodded. “We can make sure that things are set here before we try to go on another run. Unfortunately, Abraham’s idea didn’t pan out quite how we’d hoped.” He filled them in on everything, pleased as any parent when they all complimented the absent Carl for his idea with the mailing lists.

As dusk settled, Rick couldn’t help but take in how fucking lucky he was. They had safety, and shelter. His children were safe, and happy (Carl and Enid were in Carl’s room with the door very pointedly open- reading comics. Rick had exercised a herculean effort not to tease the poor kid, but it was obvious to him that Enid was not exactly impervious to his son’s many charms. It was _painfully_ cute.) Daryl had disappeared with Aaron when their meeting had broken up, and it had just been him, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne and the kids for dinner, with people popping in to say hi at sporadic intervals.

For the first time, Alexandria felt very much like a real community. Rick was tremendously content.

They deserved a bit of a goddamn break.

* * *

 

The gate rolling open made Rick feel like the last school bell of the school year had rung, freeing him for summer break. It had been almost a month since he’d been outside the walls, and to say that he was excited was definitely an understatement.

The car was nice even before the world went to shit, and while Rick would have prefered the truck, Tobin had commandeered it almost as soon as they’d parked it by the Armory. The back door opened and from the rearview mirror, Rick saw Daryl’s gear thrown carelessly into the backseat. A second later, Daryl slid into the passenger seat, and Rick tried not to show his reaction too obviously.

He had big plans for this road trip. It was just the two of them, alone. Finally _alone_.

It had been almost a month since he, Daryl, Carl, and Abraham had gotten back, and it was their turn to try to scavenge for supplies. Heath and Tara were also heading out in a different direction, and Rick through Rosita and Spencer had discussed it, but it was so awkward with Abraham, Rosita, and Sasha- that with Spencer thrown in it just made him want to cringe and tune out the conversations that tended to turn more barbed and hateful. A month of nerves and what ifs, and missed opportunities.

The one time that Rick had tried to get Daryl alone, Daryl had frozen, staring at him from under his bangs with an unreadable look. He’d muttered something about, “not now, not alone,” and sure enough, they broke away just before Glenn had thundered up the steps.

One night, he’d thought that he’d heard Daryl outside his door, but Judith had woken up and by the time Rick had gotten her sorted, he’d definitely been alone.

In his lonely, dark, empty bed, Rick thought that maybe. . . just maybe. . . it might be worth it to discuss with Daryl the possibly of not being so. . . secretive. The night that Carl had woken up had been memorable for so goddamn many reasons, but Rick found that lately, he kept hearing Daryl’s fierce, ‘ _Ain’t none of their business, really. Ain’t nobody’s business but ours.’_ over and over. He’d analyzed, and thought about, and worried over those words while they’d gone about the day to day in the Zone, and when Michonne had suggested that he and Daryl go on this run with a little smirk on her face, Rick had almost kissed her.

Rick jumped when Eugene spoke through the passenger side-window, shocked back into the conversation. Sheepishly he stared at the man, who obviously hadn’t even realized that Rick had tuned him out.

“I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area. Even if they've been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky.”

Eugene stared at both of them expectantly. Rick could almost _feel_ Daryl thinking ‘what the fuck?’ and was glad that he wasn’t alone. Sorghum? The fuck was that? Rick gathered that it was a grain, but he’d never heard of it.

Eugene sighed. “I'm talking standability, drought tolerance, grain-to-stover ratio that is the envy of all corns. Think about it.”

“Thanks.”

After the veritable word vomit of Eugene Porter-- excited about sciencing up their food supply-- Daryl’s one syllable struck Rick as pretty funny.

Eugene’s whole face lit up, but he immediately toned it down, trying to keep his cool. “All right.. Okay.” He tapped the passenger side door jauntily to a tune that only he heard, and stepped back.

Rick drove through the gate and couldn’t help tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, ignoring the speared walker to their right. Eugene had gate duty, and when he was relieved, he’d go out and kill the ones that had gotten caught during his shift.

The sun was shining, he was alone (alone!) in a car with Daryl Dixon, and it was a glorious goddamn day. “Today's the day!” He practically sang the words, grinning a little.

  
“Uh-huh.”

  
“We're gonna find food, maybe some people.” See if I can get your hand on my dick, or mine on yours, Rick thought, careful not to say what he was thinking. “The law of averages has gotta catch up.” Rick took a left, heading south and a little west.

“I don't know. We ain't seen nobody for weeks. Maybe we ain't gonna find nobody. Maybe that's a good thing.” Daryl leaned back in the seat, glancing at Rick, then staring out of the car door. “Not sure how much I trust strangers, with one thing and anoth. . . _don't_.”

Rick couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face. He slowly slid the CD into the slot, watching Daryl’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“Don't. _Please_ don't.” Daryl’s glare was something between desperate and someone who knows he shouldn’t smile, but is about to burst out laughing anyway.

_Give me the downbeat, maestro!_

_  
_ Rick hit the accelerator, turning the sound way up. Daryl’s absolute disgust over the upbeat song made the fact that they were for the most part trapped together for a long time in a small space even more perfect. Rick raised his voice, pitching it over the song. “Draws 'em away from home!” He was totally full of shit. Rick laughed even louder at Daryl’s muttered, ‘for fuck’s sake’ and rolled down the windows, feeling more carefree than he had in awhile, wind blowing through his curls as he belted out only very slightly off-key words to one of his favorite songs.

He almost missed it.

Rick was so focused on Daryl’s reactions to Rick’s teasing, that he almost missed the damn thing. It was just a chance glance to his right, and he slammed on the bakes. Daryl’s huff as he swung his arm out to grab onto the ohshit bar over the window was rather pointed.

Daryl could use silence more effectively than anyone Rick had ever met. It was like its own language.

Rick jerked his chin towards the sign and threw the transmission into reverse, backing up so that he could turn onto the road. The sorghum logo on the truck seemed almost too pat, like they were being set up for something, but he pulled the car up to the shed easily enough. Daryl had him stop to clear the area first, _before_ they forced open the door, only to both stare at the back of the truck, eyebrows raised to their hairlines.

“What do ya think?” Rick wanted to reach for the handle, but he also wanted Daryl’s input.

“Last time I opened a truck door didn’t go so well for me,” Daryl muttered. He waited a beat and Daryl opened the back of the truck. He twitched a shoulder in response, and leaned forward, pulling out a box of feminine pads. He raised both his eyebrows. “Between this and the toothpaste, we’ll be damn heroes.”

Rick snorted a laugh. He’d overheard Maggie and Michonne talking about their periods a few months ago, and while he normally didn’t give a shit about that sort of stuff- he’d never been one of those guys that were squeamish about throwing a box of tampons up next to his beer or Carl’s teddy grahams on the grocery conveyor belt in the checkout line, he was extremely, _acutely_ thankful that he didn’t have a uterus and have to worry about any of that on top of any recent pants-shittingly-unreal events. The women in their group had made do, and Rick had carefully not asked any questions, but Daryl was right. Finding a few boxes of pads or tampons, and once an unopened menstrual cup had made them _very_ popular.

“Let's get this thing going, grab our gear, come back for the car later. Take another way back. See what we can see.” Rick had long ago gotten over any guilt that would keep him from taking a literal treasure trove of someone else’s goods. He wasn’t proud, but he also wasn’t stupid. He stood back and watched as Daryl stretched his arms up to close the back of the truck.

“Think it'll start?”

Rick rocked back on his heels, knowing that the grin on his face was ridiculous, and not caring a bit. “Yeah, I do.” He laughed a little, delighted with their luck. “Fuckin’ A. Sorghum!. Thanks, Eugene.”  
  
Daryl shot him a grin, grabbed their bags and slid into the passenger seat. Rick found himself wincing a little in anticipation as he turned the key (the previous truck owner had helpfully left them in the overhead visor), then whistling under his breath when the truck purred to life. It wasn’t perfect-a high pitched squeal; pretty clearly a loose belt that sounded like someone strangling a cat, but by the time Daryl shut the door the engine sounded just fine.

Ten seconds later, Rick had backed the truck out of the barn, Daryl swung out to close the doors again, and they were on their way.

The first ten miles or so were spent in a shared, gleeful silence, both of them a little smug and enjoying it. When he saw the little gas station to the side, Rick bit his lip, not entirely sure if he should press his luck. But when _Daryl_ told him to pull over, he couldn’t help the way his dick twitched in his jeans. He tensed a little in anticipation.

Rick pulled into the gas station’s parking lot, feeling weirdly nervous. Hell, he’d already had orgasms with this man; there was no reason to be this jittery. He felt distinctly like he was waiting for a prom date as he shut off the truck’s engine, trying to gather up the courage to just lean over and steal a kiss.

Of course, when Daryl slid smoothly off of the truck’s passenger seat, Rick felt like a complete dumbass. He had one moment of wondering if Daryl wanted them to go inside, maybe, before Daryl walked a little to the right, staring thoughtfully at something on the ground.

Feeling a little like he’d lost the plot, and a little _more_ like a complete chump, Rick got out of the truck, absently siding the truck’s keys into his back pocket.

“Yo, Rick. Give me a hand with this!” Daryl slapped what looked to be a turned over vending machine and cleared his throat. “Let's flip it over.”

Rick tried not to feel too put out while he helped Daryl to flip over what had to be the _heaviest fucking vending machine_ in modern history, but it was tough. The two of them strained, trying to move the stupid thing, but it was too heavy. He was lucky that he didn’t drop it on his goddamn boot. The crash echoed through the quiet area, sending a flock of birds into the air with a startled cacophony of sound.

  
“I don't think we got it.” Rick was aware that he sounded a bit like a pissed off toddler, and told himself not to be such a dumbass. It was a good thing that Daryl was so focused on making sure this mission was a successful one. He watched as Daryl looked from the truck, to the vending machine thoughtfully.

“I got an idea.”

Rick figured that he was pretty much a goner if the way he trotted over to the truck, got the chain out of the back, and trotted back to Daryl so he could wrap it around the stupidass vending machine was any indication. He tapped restless fingers on the steering wheel as Daryl motioned for him to back up, and he did, slowly until he heard Daryl’s whistle.

Rick got back out of the truck and walked over to the now flipped-over vending machine, looking down at it with a frown. “It's soda and candy. Why the trouble?”

Daryl reached into where the glass used to be. “It wasn't any trouble,” he said quietly. Rick started to respond, but before he could, _something_ came out of nowhere and knocked him over onto the vending machine. Part of the chain they’d used to tie around the vending machine jabbed at his balls, and it was either that or the warm body on top of him that caused Rick to lose his breath as the wind was knocked out of him.

He heard Daryl swing into action, pulling his handgun and cocking it. It wasn’t actually necessary to pull the hammer back, but it was a sufficiently scary move that showed whoever had tackled him that Daryl meant business. Rick felt a startled brush of hands on his flanks, and hips and sides, before he pushed the guy off of him, whirling and pointing his Colt at the guy, still wheezing a little from the unexpected jab to his balls.

To Rick’s surprise, the man who attacked him had his face covered with a kerchief. Wide blue eyes framed by a ridiculous amount of long hair stared steadily back at him and Daryl. Obviously not a complete idiot, the man brought up both hands to show that he was harmless.

“Hi.”

Daryl’s whole demeanor changed- moving so that his body was between Rick’s and the stranger’s . “Back up! Now!” He took another half-step forward, furious.

Rick coughed, and wheezed a little when he gasped out a slightly weaker ” Keep 'em up! “ Stepping up so that he felt the line of Daryl’s body pressing comfortingly against his own, Rick raised his gun, matching Daryl’s threatening pose.

Blue eyes widened even further, looking shocked at the reaction. “Whoa, _easy_ , guys. I was just running from the dead!”

Rick cocked his head to the side- his bullshit meter going crazy. “How many?” It _could_ have just been an accident, but something was just off enough that it made Rick not wholly trust the situation. He backed up a few steps, looking back through the alley at the corner of the gas station’s store. He didn’t see anything moving, and that made him frown.

The man spoke, answering Rick’s question. “Ten, maybe more. I'm not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running.”

Daryl tightened his grip on the handle of his gun. “Where?”

“About a half a mile back. They're headed this way. You probably have about eleven minutes.”

“Okay, thanks for letting us know.” Rick pointedly lowered his weapon, thumbing the safety on with long practice.

Daryl followed suit, but he had bristled like a pissed off cat, clearly not wanting to play nice.

The man took a prudent step back. “Yeah. There's more of them than us, right? Gotta stick together. Right?” He flashed a smile. “You have a camp?”

Rick wasn’t born yesterday. “No. Do you?”

“ No.” Rick’s cheek twitched. Great, so they were both lying. The guy was clean-- Aaron-in-the-barn-clean-- no _way_ was this asshole not holed up somewhere, with water at the very least. “Sorry for running into you. I'm gonna go now.” The man turned, jogging a few steps towards the other end of the store. “If this is the next world, I hope it's good to you guys.”

Rick couldn’t say what made him do it. He didn’t trust the dude any further than he could throw him, which, thanks to an unexpected shot to his nutsack from a very unforgiving metal chain, was not very far. Still, he heard the words, almost shocked that it was his voice saying them. “I'm Rick. This is Daryl. What's your name?”

He could actually _feel_ Daryl’s incredulous stare, like sticking his face too close to the heat of a fire.

“Paul Rovia.” He spread his hands out to the side, mouth curling in a grin that was just the tiniest bit sheepish. “But my friends used to call me Jesus. Your pick.”

Jesus.

 _Jesus_ , for fuck’s sake.

Well, no one would make up that shit. And he _did_ look like the image associated with most of Christianity, long hair, neatly trimmed beard, kind eyes. Not even the leather duster, gloves, and ski cap ruined the visual.

“You said you didn't have a camp. You on your own?”

Rick took a step forward, holstering his gun.

“Yeah. But, still, best not to try anything.” The man’s gaze was cool, but not openly hostile. He was very obviously just stating a fact- but, a fact that he believed with all his might. It was a warning, more than a threat.

  
Daryl’s low growl of, “best not to make threats you can't keep, either” was just as much a line in the sand. Not overt, just simple, pure confidence that he could back up his words with whatever show of force he needed to.

“Exactly.”

Rick’s mouth started moving without his brain again. “- How many walkers-- “

Daryl turned to him, with a sharp shake of his head. “No, not this guy.”

Rick finished his sentence, finding that he was actually interested in the answer.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

Jesus ignored him, jogging a little further away and towards the corner. “Sorry, gotta run. You should, too. Think you've got about. . . seven minutes.” The man disappeared, hightailing it out of there.

  
Daryl turned to him. “What the hell was that? We don’t need no pretty-eyed poser in our camp.”

“He was clean. His beard, it was trimmed. There's more going on there.” Rick answered shortly, ignoring the way Daryl’s voice said “pretty-eyed” over and over in his head.

  
“He didn't have a gun, either.”

Rick nodded. “We could track him, watch him for a while, get to know more. See if he's really alone. Maybe bring him back.”

  
Daryl snorted. “Nah. Guy calls himself _Jesus_.”

Rick had a split second of absolute joy in shared laughter before the sound of gunshots echoing through the area caused him and Daryl to turn and start running, instinct sending them going towards the sound instead of away from it. Daryl rounded the corner of the gas station building and skidded to a halt once they saw the culprit.

“Firecrackers.”

Daryl’s “ Hell.” came at the same time as Rick’s own “Shit!” They both froze when they heard the sound of the truck start up, the belt squealing its notification to the world.

Daryl turned back towards the truck before Rick could even process what the hell he was hearing. “He swiped your keys, didn't he?”

“Oh, **_shit_**!”

They ran back to the front of the store, watching as Jesus swung the truck into an awkward u-turn, sending the vending machine skidding out from behind it like a huge, boxy, yoyo.

“Sorry!” Jesus yelled as he sped off, Daryl and Rick’s backpacks hitting the dirt beside where the truck had been.

“Shit.”

They both stood there, guns raised to shoot, but neither one quite able to bring themselves to shoot out the tire of the truck, watching as the vending machine tilted crazily. Rick scrunched up his nose. It looked like Daryl’s idea _had_ worked, at that.

“God fucking-- Jesus my _ass.”_ Daryl started running, Rick just a half a step behind him. They ran as fast as they could, refusing to give up.

Rick was just grateful that he didn’t smoke. He’d run like this once before, _without_ Daryl at his side, with his hand bleeding and a literal horde of walkers on their way towards everyone he knew and loved, and it had sucked. Every pump of his heart had caused his hand to throb, blood from his cut oozing onto the filthy bandage that he’d used as a makeshift stopgap.

This wasn’t exactly a picnic, but hearing Daryl’s slight wheeze- the wheeze of a man that used to smoke a pack a day before the entire world went to shit- and feeling Daryl beside him, running just as hard and refusing to give up made Rick realize that he could not, nor would he ever, want to give this man up. As a lover, or as a best friend, Rick would be there for Daryl, and knew that Daryl would be there for him- no matter what.

* * *

 

Rick was pathetically glad to see the vending machine in the middle of the road. There was a pothole that Daryl glanced at long and hard before smirking and walking up to the broken glass.

Rick bent over at the waist, trying not to gasp for oxygen like the old man that he was. He watched as Daryl reached inside, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

“This was a special request from the doctor.” Daryl pulled out two cans of soda, then reached in and pulled out some candy and more soda. It was a veritable treasure trove of junk food. Daryl zipped them up in his backpack, and hefted it a few times, before swinging it back up onto his broad back.

“Hey, whatever she wants. She saved Carl's life. We didn't know her, and she turned out to be all right. If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in.”

Daryl snorted. “What, like this guy?” He popped open a can of soda and sucked down half of it, holding the other half out to Rick, who took it gratefully.

Rick found himself slurping a little. It had been a damn long time since he’d had a soda. A little belatedly he remembered that Daryl had asked him a question. “No, not this guy.”

Daryl stretched a little in place, politely waiting until Rick was done with the rest of the too-sweet drink. “We still got a trail. Let's go.”

They didn’t run quite as quickly, Daryl watching the road and taking off more at a steady lope than the full-out run that they’d done before, eyes to the ground obviously seeing whatever trail Rick missed. It wasn’t too much longer before Daryl made a low sound of satisfaction and motioned for Rick to crouch down. The road had just enough of a hill that the two of them were hidden, but they could fully see the broken-down truck about a half a mile away, and heard Jesus muttering under his breath as he changed a tire in the middle of the road.

Rick jerked his head to the left, but Daryl was already way ahead of him- using the woods for cover as they quickly came up behind the man who had stolen their stolen truck.

After a furious- but silent- battle of eyebrows and what, in any other situation would be absolutely ridiculous faces, Rick won the honor of attacking, and Daryl the slightly less satisfying honor of watching Rick’s back, and with a silent rush of fury (Rick wasn’t dumb enough to yell, ‘AHHHHHHHHHHH’ as he attacked the other man from behind, but Rick’s balls still stung and he really, _really_ wanted to.) he rushed Jesus and wrapped both his arms around the smaller man.

Rick had just enough time to feel like he’d achieved one of the few, great, asskicking moves before Jeus did some sort of _something,_ and Rick was on his ass on the pavement.

Kung fu? Their erstwhile attacker knew kung- _fu_?

Rick watched as Daryl tried to jump him, and Jesus did the same sort of kick-punch-jab thing, almost too fast to see properly. It ended up with Daryl on his ass, and Rick so enraged that this man actually put _Daryl_ on his ass, that he found the energy to tackle the man again, more like a linebacker than anything. They both landed on the ground, half on the pavement, half off.

Either way, it worked. Rick took no small amount of satisfaction at the fact that Jesus had grunted with pain, and that Daryl was reading his mind again, because the two of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder, both of them holding their guns on the man that had stolen from them, breathing a little harder than normal. Some instinct, honed after two years of death around literally every corner had Rick noticing the walker shambling up behind them, its growling groan loud over the sound of their breathing.

“Ah!” Jesus held up his hands, staring up at the two of them with a carefully blank face.

“This is _done_.” Rick was so beyond tired of this bullshit that he couldn’t even aptly articulate his frustration. The growling behind them grew louder.

Jesus frowned up at them. “Do you even have any ammo?”

Rick felt Daryl moving just the same way he did, whirling and shooting the walker behind them in perfect sync, as though they’d practiced the move a hundred times. In less time that it took to blink, they whirled back, still perfectly together, to point their guns down at Jesus.

Jesus sighed, as though exhausted by life. “Oh-kay. You gonna shoot me over a truck?”

Rick thought about it, actually. Probably a little harder than he should have. His nutsack was _still_ a little tender, thanyouverymuch. “There's a lot of food on that truck.” He gestured with the tip of his Colt. “The keys, now.”

“I think you know I'm not a bad guy.”

Frankly, Rick was getting a little tired of this dude’s bullshit. If he hadn’t jumped them and stolen their truck, Rick could have probably at the very _least_ had Daryl’s cock in his mouth by this point. He glared. “Yeah? What do you know about us? Give me the keys.” Rick cocked his gun again, feeling a bit like an extra in a Dirty Harry movie, but willing enough to go with it if it got him what he wanted. “This is the last time I'm asking.”

Swearing under his breath, Jesus tossed Rick the keys. Rick continued to hold him there, waiting for Daryl to get the rope in his pocket.

Daryl picked up his backpack, and shook it, glaring inside and pulling out a busted-open soda can. “Damn it.” He glared down at Jesus, clearly just as mad about that as he’d been about running after the truck. Daryl tossed the rope to Rick, who quickly tied up Jesus’ hands. Daryl got his feet. Rick could tell that Daryl was tying him a little tighter than they probably needed to. Maybe he wasn’t over the running-after-the-truck thing after all.

Jesus looked up at Daryl, eyes wide and sad-looking. “You're gonna leave me here like this? You're really gonna do that?”

Daryl snorted. “Eh, the knots aren't that tight. You should be able to get free... after we're long gone.”

Jesus turned his big blue eyes up at Rick. He reminded him of Carl when he wanted the last cookie. He even blinked a few times, wide eyed and innocently. “Maybe we should talk now.”

“Nah. Here. In case you get thirsty.” He tossed the crumpled up, mostly empty can of Orange Crush at Jesus’ feet, and Rick was hard-pressed not to laugh.

They turned, leaving Jesus on the side of the road, and slid into the cab of the truck, with Rick driving and Daryl in the passenger seat. Daryl made quite a production out of taking the two soda cans that hadn’t been broken open in the console between them. Rick, catching his mood immediately, twirled the keys on his finger a few times. Daryl flipped Jesus off in the mirror and Rick chuckled when Daryl shouted, “so long, you prick!”

Rick raised an eyebrow and turned up the CD player.

 _  
_ _I remember the Alamo. I don't recall who won. It's a long waaay--_

He hit the accelerator and the squeal of the belt was like an added ‘fuck you’ as they sped off.

They drove in silence for awhile, listening to the music. “Still worked out. Today still _is_ the day.” Rick cranked the volume up, grinning tightly at Daryl.

_..in the Central Standard Zone. . ._

Daryl had obviously decided that the chocolate wasn’t going to survive the trek back to Alexandria, and ate some, reaching over to give Rick a piece. Instead of taking it with his fingers, Rick leaned down and purposefully sucked on Daryl’s finger as he popped the piece of chocolate in his mouth. Rick saw Daryl’s muscles tense, but he didn’t pull his fingers back as though offended or grossed out. Daryl just turned to stare at Rick, ducking his head with a shy sort of movement that sent his bangs hiding his face.

Rick was pretty sure his heart melted.

He cleared his throat, driving for a few more minutes, knowing that whatever move he made, Daryl was ready to volley back. Rick cleared his throat again, a little nervously. “Hey, look at that.” He gestured with his chin to a barn in the distance, trying to remember if he’d packed lube and condoms. He remembered setting them out on the bed, but for the life of him, Rick couldn’t remember if he put them in the damn backpack.

Daryl’s own voice was a little huskier than normal when he answered. “Yeah, a barn.”

His hand came down very deliberately on Rick’s thigh, and Rick was pretty sure the top of his head was about to blow off, when he heard a loud thumping noise from the top of the truck.

He frowned, trying to concentrate on something else besides his dick. “You hear that?”

They both listened for a moment, straining to hear the weird sound again. Daryl reached over and turned the volume down. “I think that sum bitch is on the _roof_.” There was a note of awe to his voice, like Daryl couldn’t quite believe the words that came out of his mouth.

Rick’s gut tightened with pure, unfiltered jealousy. _Pretty-eyed_? Admiration at this Jesus character’s determination? Rick’s glare could have melted stone. He’d been cockblocked before, and by some truly great cockblockers of his generation (Lori’s brother had been particularly talented. The man could have cockblocked for the US Olympic Cockblocking Team had he been so inclined.), but this? This was unfucking believable. "Hold on." Rick slammed his boot onto the brakes, taking a childish joy at how loudly the tires screeched.

Rick Grimes had long since come to terms with the fact that sometimes, he was not a nice person. He tried to do right by good people, and every night before bed, he’d make sure that he could live with the things he’d done to survive.

Watching that long-haired, hippie, _ninja_ go flying over the hood of the truck was something that Rick knew would bring him sweet, sweet satisfaction for a long- ass time.

Jesus landed with an audible grunt, then somehow managed to spring up like a goddamn jack-in-the-box and took off, running towards the barn.

The barn!

 _Oh_ **_HELL_ ** _no!_

Rick hit the gas, gunning the truck with all the juice he could muster in the muddy field. He heard things knocking around in the back, and didn’t care. He tightened his grip on the wheel, gritting his teeth as he tried to catch up with the surprisingly spry man zig-zagging through the field.

Daryl made a sound that could only be called a growl, one that Rick would most definitely like to hear again under much different circumstances.

“Mother _fucker_!” Daryl cursed, then swung _out of the moving vehicle_ and tackled Jesus to the ground.

Rick gawped at the open door for a few seconds before jerking the wheel of the truck so that he wouldn’t hit the damn idiot. “Daryl!” His gaze was caught by a few walkers that had come shambling up behind the otherwise occupied Daryl. Rick flung the truck into park and tried to get Daryl’s attention, but he was too far away. “Daryl!” The walkers near the rusted out tractor reached for him, and Rick swung his machete into action, stabbing the closest in the head to take them down quickly.

Faintly he heard Daryl yelling back- “We came to a conclusion, asshole!” He waved at Rick. “I got him!”

Rick nodded, taking out the other three walkers that came up behind him to his left. Having five ready to attack him ratcheted his adrenaline up a little more, but he had to smirk when he heard Daryl’s pissed off, “Come here, ya little shit!”

Rick heard a gunshot and he whirled, his heart in his throat, stabbing the last walker almost absentmindedly as he saw Jesus hand Daryl back his gun - _what?_ \- and the two of them fall out of the passenger seat of the truck. Daryl managed to roll away, but Jesus got nailed by the open door, and finally fell to the ground, still.

Even the fact that their gloriously full truck had just slid into the lake and was slowly drowning paled into comparison at seeing Daryl sprawled on the ground. Rick made it across the field and to him in what felt like heartbeats. Daryl was already sitting up, staring at the truck, cursing a blue streak under his breath.

“You all right?”

Daryl sucked his teeth, and Rick could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Yeah. Law of averages. That's bullshit, man. Let's go check them cars, get the hell out of here.” He reached out and Rick grasped his forearm, helping Daryl to stand.

“What about the guy?” Rick looked over at where Jesus lay, still bleeding heavily from the gash on his head.

“What about him?” Daryl bent and dusted off his khakis, brushing the little bits of grass that stuck to his sweaty skin from his forearms.

“Well, he helped you.“

“Maybe.” Daryl sounded sulky as he glared at the lake. The truck was completely submerged now, with only a few air bubbles marking the spot where they’d lost it.

Rick, maybe now because Daryl was sounding properly pissed off instead of enamored of the dumbass, raised an eyebrow. “He ever pull a weapon on you?"

Daryl actually crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine.” He sounded _exactly_ like Carl at his pissiest. “Let's put him up a tree. ‘Sides, now we have to find a fuckin’ car since ours is still parked where we found the truck. The tree’s our best bet, really.”

Rick grinned a little, reaching out to nudge Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl huffed out a breath then turned to walk the few feet over to where Jesus lay, unconscious. He grabbed the red handkerchief and dabbed a little uncertainly at the wound over his forehead, then tied it up stop the bleeding. He reached out and grabbed Jesus’ stocking cap to jam on top of the handkerchief, keeping it in place.

Without saying anything, Rick knew that he’d be on wheels detail, while Daryl watched their unconscious new charge. Looks like he’d get to see the inside of the barn after all.

Damnit.

Rick jogged back over to the barn, and rolled his eyes at what they couldn’t see from the front, that the back was completely burnt out. The roof creaked a little more than Rick was comfortable, and he figured that with the way his shitty-ass luck was going today he best not test checking out the stalls for anything useful.

He turned around and walked around to the side of what looked like a small shed. The little white car looked like something he and Lori would have driven when they’d been eating nothing but beenie weenies and ramen noodles for dinner. It was unlocked, and the keys were in the visor (Was that a thing in Virginia? Did he miss a damn memo?) and with a little coaxing, the engine started with a heave and a clunk. Rick spared a second to wonder why the people who had stayed here had not used their getaway vehicle, then shook his head. It was easy enough to figure out after all. The tank was even half full.

He drove back around to Daryl and Jesus, stifling a yawn. There’d been a little more excitement than he’d expected, and they’d only been gone from Alexandria for two hours, tops.

Daryl picked up Jesus under the armpits, and shoved him none-too-gently into the backseat of the car. He got into the back next to Jesus, and glared out the window as Rick shifted the car into gear.

“Smells like cat piss.”

Rick shrugged. “Beats walking.” The car hit a bump in the field, and Jesus fell onto Daryl’s shoulder with a thud. He looked back at Daryl from the rearview mirror. “He took a pretty hard hit. Denise needs to look him over.”

“Yeah.”

Rick tried again. “You wouldn't have gone through with it. You wouldn't have left him.” His voice had gentled without him meaning to.

Daryl sounded defensive when he responded. “I would've, right up in a tree.” His lower lip actually poked out a little. “ I _would've_.”

Rick hit another bump, turning onto the paved highway. “ No. I know. Almost as soon as we got to Alexandria, you got it. You saw-- you... and Michonne, Glenn, you all tried to tell me. So shut up.”

Daryl softened visibly. “You didn’t want to hear it at the time. Too much’d happened.” Rick hit another bump, causing Jesus to slide back onto Daryl’s shoulder like a lover taking a little snooze, and Rick’s eyes narrowed, only to grin outright when Daryl jabbed him with his elbow so that he shifted so that his weight was against the passenger side window, face smooshed up against the glass. “We all knew it. Saw what you had to give up to keep us alive.”

Rick broke eye contact in the mirror, feeling a little too exposed. He cleared his throat, but didn’t miss the soft look on Daryl’s face before Daryl deliberately looked out his window, staring quietly out at nothing as Rck drove them home.

* * *

 

Rick knocked on Denise’s door, feeling like a jerk. It had gotten dark in the time that they’d been gone, and he had a feeling that she was asleep. . . or doing other things.

Without thinking he used the ‘need help, no danger’ whistle as a knock then sighed when Tara tapped back an ‘all clear’ before Denise opened the door. It had to be Tara. He supposed it was good that his people hadn’t forgotten the basic safety they’d had drilled into their heads on their way from Georgia.

  
Denise yawned. “Who is this?”

Daryl frowned. “Come on, man, he's heavy. Oh, that thing, uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry.”

Denise blinked, her gaze dropping to Jesus’ still pale face. “ Lay him on the bed.”

“--All right, take a look at him.”

“-- He _ain't_ staying, though."

Rick and Daryl looked at each other, frowning at the way they’d spoken in unison. Denise and Tara looked from one of them to the other like spectators at a tennis match before turning their attention towards the unconscious man on her infirmary bed.

They waited while Denise worked quickly, if a bit sleepily. She stitched up the small cut on Jesus’s forehead, holding out Daryl’s handkerchief to him impatiently, who took it with a disgusted snort. Eventually she shrugged with one shoulder. “Whatever you hit him with did a damn good job. Leave him here and I’ll check on him every few--”

“No. We’ll take him to someplace a little more secure.”

“He could have a concussion! He needs to be monitor--”

Rick cocked his head, making direct eye contact with Denise, halting her worried babble. “He will be, okay? We just can’t trust this guy to be running around.”

Daryl coughed something that sounded like ‘asshole’ before the two of them carried Jesus the next building over, the one where they’d held the Wolf. Shame Morgan’s jail wasn’t done yet. They set him down on the yoga mat, and Rick put some water and a granola bar near him, with a note:

_‘You were hurt. We brought you here. You’re safe. Talk soon, Rick.’_

“He is not stayin’, man.”

“We'll see.” Rick brought a blanket by him, and thought about taking off his boots, but figured that might get him kicked in the face, or in the nuts again if Jesus was playing possum. “ It is pretty stupid of us to go out there, isn't it?” He opened the door, while Daryl shut off the lights.”

“Yep.” Daryl grinned the tiny-half grin of his. “Do it again tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

They shut the door and locked it, both with equally idiotic grins on their faces. “I’m gonna go check up on Carol, then grab a shower.”

“Sounds good. See you in a few? I’ll make some of the noodle stuff.”

Daryl nodded, then turned and started walking towards the house Carol was staying in. Rick sighed. It wasn’t that he’d completely discounted what Michonne and Maggie had said about Carol- he could see that there was something wrong there just as good as anyone- but thinking about it meant that he really had to look at his own culpability; the fact that he’d started her down on this entire path when he’d booted her ass out of the prison.

God how fucking stupid, how _sanctimonious_ , he’d been. Carol didn’t blame him. It wasn’t in her to blame him, but Rick for damn sure wasn’t proud of how he’d acted. Still, knowing that Daryl was going to check on her made him feel slightly better. She’d tell Daryl things that she probably wouldn’t tell him, at the very least.

Rick went home and peeked in on the sleeping Judith. A shower sounded like a damn good idea, and he blushed a little as he made a special point of making sure he was clean. He thought about taking care of the way his half-hard dick showed interest at the warm, steamy water and suds, but figured he was one hell of an optimist, given his and Daryl’s less than stellar luck thus far.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and left the room in a huge cloud of steam. Michonne met him in the hallway, and he raised his eyebrows at the look on her face.

“You look like a man who didn’t have the best day.”

Rick snorted softly and leaned back against the wall. “You could say that.”

“No luck on the toothpaste, huh?”

Rick opened his mouth, started to spill out the whole, sad story, then stopped when Michonne raised one finger to stop the flood of words that hadn’t quite made it out of his mouth yet.

“Damn. I was pretty sure you’d score on the toothpaste.” She shrugged. “Gotta catch you up on a few things tomorrow.”

Rick’s brows knit in confusion. “Why tomorrow?”

“Well. Be _cause_ I am busy tonight. You know who else is busy tonight?” Michonne raised her eyebrows, waiting for Rick to respond. When he tentatively opened his mouth, she railroaded over him again, smirking a little. “Your kid. He and I have watch tonight.”

Rick blinked.

“So this means, that you have this big, old. . . okay, it’s not old but work with me here. This big house all to yourself. Except for Daryl.”

She actually wiggeled her eyebrows.

Rick turned so red so quickly he was afraid he’d have some kind of permanent damage. “Uh.”

Michonne nodded, as though he’d actually responded with something intelligent. “Judith won’t bug you much. She’s passed out. If you guys are very, very quiet. . .”

“Oh my god, stop.” If Rick could have scuffed his toe against the ground without flashing her in the towel, he would have.

Michonne snorted a laugh. “Aaron left you something. It’s in your bedroom.”

“Oh god.” Rick turned, and walked back into the bedroom. He hadn’t even noticed that there was a little gift bag on the bureau, near where he put his watch every night. There was a note propped up against the side of it, and only years of training from his mama and grandmama had him looking at the note before checking out the gift.

Written in huge, black, block letters was the very succinct message:

**DO NOT FUCK THIS UP**

                                       - Aaron

  
Rick peeked into the bag, turned another three shades of red, and turned to shove it in the bedside table. He was so flustered that he missed Michonne walking up behind him until she grabbed his hand.

“Hey. Hey, slow down a sec. You know we’re just--”

Rick turned, still feeling a little out of his depth, but this was Michonne, and he trusted her more than anyone, except for maybe Daryl. “--a buncha assholes.”

She stepped into the line of his body, hugging him hard. A little baffled, Rick brought his arm around her, hugging her back once, hard, before they both stepped back.

“Guess it’s my night to talk some sense into Grimes men.” She smiled a little. “I know I was hard on you before, and that wasn’t fair. We came at you swinging and with how everything’s been we were afraid we broke it before you even got a chance to--”

“If the next words outta your mouth are ‘ride it’ so help me God, I’ll--”

Michonne’s grin turned a little dirty, and they both pretended that Rick could make Michonne do anything that she didn’t goddamn well want to do. “Naw. But I mean it. Thought you two were dead in the water before Abraham told me that he was glad to come home ‘cuz the sexual tension was enough to make him start lookin’ at Eugene a little funny’. So yeah, thanks for that image in my head.” She waited while Rick made the expected grossed out face. Her hand came to take his and she squeezed. “You got tonight, and hopefully it’s the beginning of something good, you know?”

Rick’s voice was tight. Part of him felt like he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere in a John Hughes movie, but the rest of him appreciated the gesture for what it was.

Her fingernail tapped on Rick’s wedding ring, and he looked down at his hand, at their fingers twined together. Her voice was very soft when she spoke. “But maybe. . . maybe it should be the end of something, too. Y’know?”

Oh.

As always, when he thought of Lori, it was with the sick punch of hopeless guilt and utter disgust for how he’d handled the last few months of her life. There’d been so many mistakes- on both their parts. Before everything, they’d been on a constant verge of divorce, but hadn’t wanted to break up Carl’s world, so they’d worked to fix what they could fix. She’d been his wife for over ten years; been his best friend for most of that. They’d loved each other, but now at the far end of everything, Rick could see plainly that they hadn’t been _in_ love with each other.

Michonne squeezed his hand. “Just a thought. Now, I’m gonna go. You good?”

Rick nodded, his voice a little tight. “Thanks, Michonne.”

She smiled again, a little sadly. Rick figured she knew exactly what it felt like to hold onto mementos of people who were long gone. He heard her walk down the stairs as he sat down on the bed, staring at his wedding band.

Killing Shane had been the thing that broke them; the thing that neither of them could forgive him for doing. Rick wasn’t stupid. He could add real well up to nine months, and he had a pretty good idea of whose DNA Judith had. Hell. Carol, Daryl, and T-Dog had joked about it when they thought he couldn’t hear them. He’d thought it before, but even after everything, Rick was still so grateful to Shane for getting Lori and Carl out with all the chaos, of keeping them safe. He didn’t blame them for loving each other. But god- everything had been so fucked up. Sophia, and the barn, and the fire, Carl almost dying and Otis. Daryl being shot by Andrea. Dale. So much fucking bullshit and then with how Lori had died? With his own guilt at what Carl had had to do to save his sister?

Rick huffed out a breath and reached down to his ring finger. It took a second and a tug, but the ring came off with very little fuss. For the longest time, that ring had been a symbol of his marriage- solid, maybe a few dings and a scratch here and there, but overall, unbroken and real. Taking it off was a lot like actually saying goodbye to Lori, saying goodbye to his guilt for everything he had and hadn’t done. . .

Michonne was right. Hell, when was Michonne _not_ right? Rick needed to stop wallowing in a past he’d been too stubborn and arrogant to change. Maybe take a chance and see what happened.

Rick set the ring very carefully next to his watch with a small _click_ and turned to pull on a pair of jeans that were so old they barely felt like anything. He didn’t wear them very often, because the knees were long gone, and he’d lost enough weight that the waistband hung a little low, but Carol always whistled at his ass when he wore them, and at this point he’d take anything he could get. He’d found a t-shirt that didn’t look too bad, and ran his fingers through his curls, before turning to go brush his teeth.

Feeling oddly lighter, Rick quickly went downstairs to rustle up some dinner, only to find Daryl sitting on the couch, feet stretched out on the coffee table, looking half dead. There were two bowls of something steaming by the baby monitor.

“Move.”

Daryl flipped him off and reached to get Rick’s noodles, handing them to him silently, but not moving one inch from where he sat, so that when Rick sat down beside him, they were pressed pretty tightly together.

“Hey. She's practicing in her sleep.” Daryl indicated the monitor with his chin, slurping his noodles into his mouth as they both laughed a little at Judith. She’d flipped into her favorite sleeping position, on her hands and knees with her diapered butt up in the air- but her legs were twitching as though she was practicing walking in her dreams.

“Yeah. It's good to be home.”

“Yeah, you're telling me. I saw Carl on watch. Where's Michonne?”

“Think she’s on Jesus detail.”

Daryl made a ‘um-humm’ noise and finished his dinner, and enjoying the silence and- oh Christ, Michonne had started a _fire_ \- ambience. Rick followed suit, eating his own portion in silence.

Rick was so lulled by the relaxed atmosphere that he didn’t even register that Daryl had politely waited until he was finished with dinner- he even gave him a few minutes to digest- before clearing his throat to get Rick’s attention.

Rick looked away from the fire to see that Daryl was staring at him, and likely had been for a while, turned a little on the couch so that Rick took up all of his attention.

Rick didn’t even have to think about it. He just leaned over and erased the space between their lips, kissing Daryl softly, then not so softly as their mouths opened. Rick heard himself make a low sound of need before he reached over to cup Daryl’s face with his hands, directing the kiss a little so that it wasn’t so awkward. Daryl broke away a little to bite at Rick’s lower lip and Rick kissed him harder, licking into Daryl’s mouth, mapping out every inch now that he had the time, had all damn night to kiss Daryl like he deserved to be kissed.

They kissed and kissed, making out like teenagers, and it wasn’t until Rick’s lips were slick and a little numb that he realized that sometime while they’d kissed he’d pushed Daryl back so that he was almost reclining on the couch, Rick’s body following his so that he was on top. Rick was so hard he found himself grinding a little against Daryl’s thigh to get some friction.

When Daryl shifted and both their hard cocks pushed together, they both moaned, shifting so that they could keep the filthy movement going as long as possible. Rick leaned in to kiss Daryl again, but the barely there whisper of “wait” caused Rick’s breath to freeze in his throat.

Rick realized that Daryl’s hands on his shoulders were pushing a slight bit and he moved to the other side of the couch so quickly that he felt like he left a bit of himself behind.

“Hey. What’s the--oh. No. _No,_ Rick. “ Daryl reached over to cup the back of Rick’s neck. Rick, still unsure what he’d done wrong resisted a little, then finally went where Daryl guided him, meeting Daryl’s gaze with his own nervous stare. Daryl leaned forward and kissed his lips, sweetly. “I jus’ want to take a shower. Meet you upstairs?”

Oh. _Oh._

Rick was so relieved that he sat there on the couch for a moment after Daryl left, staring blindly at the baby monitor. He’d been so caught up, so incredibly turned on and _hungry_ for Daryl’s mouth, for the heat of his body that he’d thought he’d pushed Daryl into something that he didn’t want. Rick thought that Daryl had stopped him because he’d gone for too much, too fast.

Rick heard the water in the shower and jolted, all at once realizing what he needed to do to make sure he was ready. He scrambled forward to bank the fire, grabbed Judith’s monitor, and took the stairs two at a time. Since Judith’s room was only two doors down, Rick flipped the switch of the monitor to save the battery (it wouldn’t do to waste, even if it was rechargable). He’d hear her if she made a sound, and her door had a pin lock (on both sides) so that she could be locked in, and anyone in her room could lock themselves in if walkers somehow got into the house. She was safer than anyone in the house.

Feeling a bit goofy, he lit a candle on the dresser, and pulled the drapes shut. He thought for a second, then ran downstairs to get two bottles of water and made it back upstairs just as the water shut off.

Rick quickly kicked some of the ridiculous amount of pillows to the ground, and managed to shove them under the bed just in time for Daryl to walk through the bathroom door.

Rick felt like he’d been punched.

Daryl was naked, droplets from the shower shining on his skin in the soft candlelight. He didn’t pause to let Rick admire him, but walked straight forward, pushing Rick onto the bed then climbing up over him to meet Rick’s searching lips with his own.

“This is. . . “

Rick leaned up a little and pulled off his shirt, tossing it blindly and arching up for another kiss. He was startled at the way Daryl jumped off of him, whipping the shirt off of the lit candle Rick had just thrown it on.

“Dumbass,” Daryl laughed, knee walking back on the mattress.

Rick smiled and reached out to finally touch, ghosting his palms over Daryl’s broad shoulders and arms, down over his pecs to the little scars and tattoos Daryl usually kept hidden. Daryl hitched a breath and Rick leaned forward to bite at the jut of Daryl’s collarbone, licking the tiny hurt and indulging himself by finally getting to kiss and lick at all that skin.

When he licked over a nipple, Daryl groaned. When he nipped at it with his teeth, Daryl shifted again on his knees, nudging Rick back onto his back and onto all fours, caging Rick in the bulk of his body. From this angle he could see the jut of Daryl’s cock as it swung and bobbed. Rick licked his lips and started to shimmy down, wanting his mouth on Daryl. He closed his hand around the heat of Daryl’s cock. Rick knew that he wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of dicks, having only seen his own in a situation like this before, but Rick’s was willing to give it the old college try here. He moved his hand, tightening his grip slightly. Daryl was thick enough that he could imagine that getting him in his mouth would take some getting used to, but not so thick that Rick couldn’t close his fist around the shaft. The foreskin surprised him for some reason. He was able to slide it down so he could see that the head of Daryl’s dick was wet, and flushed slightly darker than the skin. Daryl grew even harder in his hand, and a quick glance up showed that Daryl had tensed his facial muscles, enjoying the touch.

Daryl shifted slightly in Rick’s grip, then shuddered when Rick brushed his thumb over the damp head.

“This okay?”

Daryl nodded, hard enough that his wet hair flopped around a little. “I just.. _Fuck_ , that’s good.”

“Just what?”

“Just wanted to try somethin’ else for this. Somethin’ I read about.”

“Watching you reading that stuff was killing me.”

Daryl’s shy grin was utterly beautiful. Watching it, Rick felt his heart flip over in his chest and had to lean up again to kiss Daryl’s mouth. “I got no plans for how this should go. I mean, I . . . don’t know if I’m ready for uh. For. . .”

“For me to fuck you in the ass?”

The crudity of Daryl’s words made Rick snort in the way hearing swears used to make him giggle as a kid. It was completely out of place with the intimacy of the moment, but at the same time so perfectly _them_ that it made any lingering nervousness dissipate.

“No. I’m not ready for that either. Seems like something to work up to. Got plenty of other stuff we can do and if we decide to change things up later, we can always flip or thumb wrestle for it or something, I guess. Now turn your ass over.”

Daryl moved back so Rick could do that, but before he flipped over all the way, Daryl stopped him and tugged pointedly at Rick’s jeans. He unsnapped them, but pushed at Rick’s hip, giving him space to adjust so he was on his stomach, ass covered by his jeans.

Rick made a face and shifted a little so that the zipper wouldn’t mangle his dick, folding over the sides of the denim so that he couldn’t possibly cause any damage. He felt Daryl over him again and sighed, relaxing into the bedspread and pillows.

Daryl started at his shoulders, peppering little kisses over a few moles and freckles, moving slowly down his back. Daryl returned the touches Rick had stolen before, scratching lightly over his muscles and the back of his ribs, before scraping his teeth over the bumps in his spine. Rick sighed again, trying not to shift his hips or grind into the mattress. Rick caught his breath when Daryl’s lips stopped over the waistband of his jeans, clinging kind of desperately to whatever modesty Rick had left.

“You good?”

“Did you plan this out? This is like a dream.”

“Yeah well, if you had any idea how many times I’ve pictured you like this. . . you’d probably laugh.”

Rick leaned up and turned a little and Daryl was there where he needed him, just like every other time. The kiss this time was absolutely filthy- needy and a precursor to what they both wanted. Rick arched his hips and listened to Daryl catch his breath as he helped him slide his jeans over his ass, down over his legs, and finally off onto the floor.

“Kneel up a little. If you don’t like this, we can try somethin’ else, okay?”

“Mmm.” Rick stretched, enjoying the heat of Daryl’s body behind him, before easing up onto his arms and knees, so that his ass was up in the air. He felt a little ridiculous, but pressed his too-red face to the pillowcase, grateful for its smooth coolness against his overheated skin. He trusted Daryl though, and it was obvious that he was enjoying himself, taking the lead like this.

“That’s it,” Daryl encouraged him, shifting behind him on the bed. Daryl’s hands shook slightly as he stroked over Rick’s back, his flanks, and over the cheeks of his butt, down his thighs. “Spread a little for me, Rick.”

Hearing his name like that shorted out the few remaining brain cells he had remaining. His skin broke out in goose bumps, and he did as asked, feeling Daryl’s face behind him and knowing he was completely vulnerable to whatever Daryl had fantasized about.

He felt Daryl’s lips drag over the curve of one cheek, and lower, arranging him so that Daryl could pull back his dick through his open legs, bending to lick at the head. Rick’s breath caught in his throat, as sensation crashed over him, partly from having his cock sucked, partly from having _Daryl’s_ mouth on him, partly from having his dick in that position. It caused muscles in his lower abdomen to flex that didn’t normally flex, and it was causing his cock to harden so quickly that his head spun a little.

Daryl’s mouth was tentative, then more confident as Rick shuddered and groaned under him. He moved from the head of Rick’s cock to his balls, sucking each one into his mouth and lipping at the skin as it tightened.

“Aw, _fuck._ ”

Daryl tugged again with his lips and Rick opened his legs further, rocking forward so that Daryl had all the access he wanted.

Daryl took full advantage, sliding his hands up and clenching in the muscle of Rick’s ass, holding him tightly as he moved back to Rick’s cock with a low little growl. Rick had leaked enough precome that Daryl actually slurped a little, sucking as much as he could into his mouth. Rick was held in place with such ease, Daryl using the causal strength he’d developed from endless draws of his crossbow, that he just shook and took the pleasure Daryl gave him, clenching his teeth against saying anything else.

Daryl seemed to have some sort of sixth sense that Rick was mere seconds from coming and stopped, pulling his mouth away and, resting his forehead against Rick’s thigh. Daryl heard him suck in a breath, and another, and he shifted a little until Daryl let go a little guiltily. Rick’s heart pounded and he shifted a little, feeling blood rush into his fingers and toes, both of which he realized he’d been curling in an effort not to come right there.

“Didn’t mean to hold so tight. Sorry.”

Rick’s first reaction was a fierce ‘ _good!’_ at the idea of Daryl bruising him, of having his marks under his clothes, and the thought shocked him so much that his eyes popped open.

Daryl lipped lazily at Rick’s thigh, then at the fleshy curve of his butt, before moving away. Rick’s eyes fluttered shut again as he came down from almost coming Rick felt the mattress shake, then heard Daryl curse under his breath.

Rick opened one eye and looked back, seeing that Daryl had sat back on his heels, his cock jutting proudly out. The glans were red and slippery with precome, and the foreskin was fully pulled back, making Rick’s mouth water. He’d never wanted another man’s dick anywhere near his mouth before, and he realized that he was quickly becoming obsessed with the thought of Daryl’s.

“The damn lube has a safety seal. Eric didn’t mention that.”

Rick snorted a laugh. Like before, the slightly amused, sheepish comment caused the tension to shift to something else entirely.

“Hurry up and come on over here.” Rick’s whisper made Daryl almost fumble the lube, before he managed to get the foil seal off. Rick managed to keep a straight face as what had to be a third of the bottle spilled into Daryl’s hands, but when Daryl leaned over to slide his hands on the back and inside of Rick’s still-open thighs, and up over the crack and globes of his ass, Rick started to realize just exactly what Daryl had in mind. Rick moved up so that he could balance better, tightening his fingers around the slats of the old-fashioned headboard. The movement caused him to shift so that his cock was in a more comfortable position, and he heard Daryl grunt as he stroked the remaining lube over his own twitching cock.

“I just want to-- I’m not gonna--”

“Yes you are. Come here. Let me feel you.”

Daryl had lost all coordination by now, lunging clumsily towards Rick and sliding into position behind him.

The both moaned at the feeling of Daryl pressed up against Rick’s slightly smaller body, of his slick cock moving into place between Rick’s even slippier thighs. One of Daryl’s arms came around Rick’s body, holding him close to Daryl, and the other reached over Rick’s arm to help brace them against the headboard.

“Come on now, you thought about this. I can tell you did. C’mon now and fuck me, Daryl.” Rick leaned his head back to prop its weight on Daryl’s shoulder.

Daryl’s breath shuddered in Rick’s ear, and he started to move his hips, slowly thrusting in the scant space left from Rick’s tightened thighs. Rick did his best to clench so that Daryl would have the friction he needed, and Daryl reacted just how Rick had hoped, by thrusting harder, chasing his own orgasm. He thrust so hard that Rick fell forward a little, causing Daryl’s cock to slide up the crack of his ass, over the hole there and up towards his tailbone. They both froze for a minute, before Rick nodded to the unasked question, and Daryl circled his hips, dragging the glans of his cock over Rick’s hole, teasing enough and slick enough that it made Rick’s breath catch in his throat. He moved back into place between Rick’s thighs again, causing Rick to feel strangely bereft, and a lot more curious about actual penetrative sex. He hadn’t expected to feel so much from just the tiny tease that Daryl gave him.

Daryl shifted his own weight, holding Rick’s cock in his hand, and Rick cried out louder than he meant to,and his head fell forward, suddenly too heavy for his neck. Daryl was just long enough that when he thrust, Rick could imagine the head of that cock peeking out from between Rick’s thighs, and he took one hand off the headboard to move his own balls and cock out of the way, arching his neck a little, suddenly desperate to see if the reality was like the picture in his head.

It was, of course. Rick could have watched him for hours. Instinct had him tightening his thighs, and Daryl started thrusting harder, fucking him, and moving his hand over the wet head of Rick’s cock. Daryl made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and thrust once more. Rick felt streaks of Daryl’s come hit his hand and the underside of his cock, and Rick gasped, shocked, and twisted his fingers with Daryl's, both of them working to stroke him to orgasm.

It didn’t take long. Rick liked the feel of Daryl's’ slightly too heavy, sweaty body against his a little too much, his breath panting in his ear sending shivers down his spine as he felt his balls tighten as he started to come, collapsing awkwardly between the headboard and Daryl’s body.

It took a second before he could breathe properly again, his knees reminding him that he was a lot closer to 40 than he was to 30.

“Jesus fuck, I thought that was supposed to get less intense the more we did it.”

Rick snorted, turning to nuzzle against the stubble of Daryl’s cheek. It was completely sappy, and utterly ridiculous, and Daryl obviously loved every second of it, if by the way his arms tightened around Rick in a quick, hard hug was any indication.

“Guess not. Might need more practice to make sure.”

Daryl snorted and detangled them, padding quietly into the bathroom. Rick heard the water run, and reached for one of the waters, suddenly gaspingly thirsty. His move to stretch onto his stomach was more of a flop than anything more graceful, but Rick found that he didn’t much care.

“You uh. You might need to take a shower. I got you a bit messy.”

Rick snorted, turning onto his back and stretching as Daryl cleaned him up. He felt utterly lazy and completely content at the whole of humanity at the moment. “Not a damn chance. Now, we got about three hours before Michonne and Carl come back from guard duty, and I intend to spend all of it sleeping with you, so you best get your ass in this bed.”

“Can’t.” Daryl said, deadpan as Rick’s eyes shot open, completely shocked. “You’re on top of the bedspread, asshole. Move it.”

Daryl turned to blow out the candle, and he stood there for a few moments, before coming back to bed. Rick had managed to climb under the covers, and Daryl slid into him, both of them curling together like they’d done it a million times before.

Rick kissed Daryl’s shoulder and before he could stop himself snorted a tiny laugh.

“What?”

“Law of Averages, man. Toldja so.” Rick spared a second to mentally flip off the universe. He’d been right! It was one of the best goddamn days of his life. Rick just knew that every day after would be just as amazing. He couldn’t have stopped the shit-eating, utterly dopy grin on his face if he’d been paid to.

But eventually, Rick felt his body slip towards sleep. He kissed Daryl again, pressing his lips to the other man’s softly before breaking slightly away from Daryl’s embrace so that he could sleep.

It wasn’t until much later, when the night had grown quiet around them and the dark pressed in, wrapping them in their own cocoon of contentment that Daryl joined their hands together, pressing his finger lightly over Rick’s naked ring finger. Rick realized why it had taken him so long to come to bed. Daryl didn’t say anything, and neither did Rick, and the silence was heavy with all the words that they both knew were too early to say.  
  


**TBC**!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Seriously, “The Next World” is one of my absolute favorite episodes ever. I found everything in it hysterical- the timing, the one-liners, the little bits of sarcasm. . . I don’t know if credit should go to Kari Skogland’s direction or Angela Kang and Corey Reed’s script, but goddamn this was amazing. 
> 
> I obviously changed a few things though. *cough*
> 
> *nudges soapbox in optimal position*
> 
> Ahem. So I have mentioned this before, but I utterly loathe the fact that the tv show had Michonne and Rick hook up. Ah-ah, before you get mad at me, let me try to explain my headcannon/reasoning. In the comic, Michonne has had to overcome more than anyone. What the Governor did to her and turned her into after was vital to who Michonne is. She struggles, and she makes mistake after mistake, and probably the one, good thing in her life is her relationship with Carl and Rick. Carl, as a friend, and Rick, as his best friend, when she’ll let him be. She has sexual relationships with other men, but her and Rick are just. . . awesome. Now, I absolutely could see them together as friends, if Andrea wasn’t in the picture, but Rick wouldn’t cheat on her, and Michonne wouldn’t put him in that position. Someone else? Of course. Rick Grimes? Hell no. So no, not as lovers, or in love. But two friends looking for comfort? Yeah. That I could 100% see. I know that people think I hate the ship because I love Rick and Daryl so much, but for fuck’s sake. I’m 40 years old. I don’t hate anything. Except maybe peas-- cuz they’re gross little fuckers. I just can’t see it because my head is so wrapped up in the comic. *shrug* Ahem. So, yeah. I tend to write Comic Michonne more than TV Show Michonne, because I think the writers made a huge mistake by cutting that part of her life story out of the show. As amazing as Danai Gurira is, it absolutely sucks that she didn’t get to act out that part of Michonne’s story.
> 
> *steps off soapbox*
> 
> Thank you as always for the comments, and the fact that people are reading this. Remember the tags? Ya’ll know what happened in this next chapter. Hang onto your butts.
> 
> Thanks as always to the lovely **FoxyK** for the beta, and for putting up with me bothering her every few days. I also need to thank **Lotr58** for going back through and fine-tooth-combing this monster. And without being too mushy, thanks to **jlm121** for everything. ♥


	26. Chapter 15-  Way Down We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: . . . **I’m sorry.**
> 
>  
> 
> (Just one final warning- this chapter is a doozy; specific warnings can be found in the end notes.)

* * *

_Maggie. . . I’ll. I’ll find you. . ._

* * *

 

Daryl had long since tested the door of his cell. Whenever he hit the door, some asshole knocked back. He could walk three steps one way, and just about stretch out the other way, but that was it. No one responded when he hollered, or when he flung the tin water cup against the door except to take the cup away.

‘Course that’s when they started the song, and Daryl knew he was fucked.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

They hit him, of course. Hit him hard, with chains, with fists, with brass knuckles, with hatred for their people he’d killed, or helped to kill. Somebody’s brother, or cousin, or friend-- standing in line, waiting their turn. One guy told him cheerfully that he’d traded a week’s worth of food for the chance to get at him before he was too fucked up to realize who was hurting him.  Another asked him how it felt to know that they were doing the same thing to the kid and his dad not two doors down, and oh. Oh, how they’d laughed at the way Daryl’d gone rabid, twitching helplessly from his bonds and snarling and biting at the men who’d fucked him up because _no._ It was one thing to have him here- to have the shitty, never-good-for-nothin’ redneck as a goddamn live-action punching bag because that’s all that he deserved, but not Carl. Not that sweet kid, or Rick, not Rick not RicknotRick _not.Rick!_

\--- _boom Clap! boom Clap! Clap!_

_\---We’re on Easy Street!  And it feels so sweet!_

It took awhile to cotton onto the fact that they were careful not to break anything.  Maybe a finger by accident, and his ankle was sprained and swollen as fuck, but that’d been his own fault when he’d kicked out, trying to defend himself.  But Daryl had had the shit kicked out of him before, and the throbbing pain and feel of dirt in the cuts on his skin was comforting somehow. Truth was, he didn’t fight all that much anymore. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. There was no light, and the shifts changed so much that he couldn’t ever tell who was outside. There was That Song of course, over and over and over and it smelled so goddamn sweet on E Zee Street.

Daryl was hungry, then he stopped being hungry.  He was dizzy and knew he’d been kicked too hard in the head ‘cuz the stuffed feeling of a concussion never quite went away. He’d felt _that_ too many times to name growing up. He tried to piss and shit in the corner, but sometimes his body was too hurt to make it there, and the sting and shame of sitting in his own urine had faded when he’d taken off the clothes he’d come in.

 _That_ had earned him special attention from the sick fuck with the scared face. He’d walked into the cell with something in his hand- a sandwich?- and had immediately made a face and backed out with a “Whew! Now, Daryl, it’s getting a bit whiffy in here. Shame on you!” He’d disappeared through the door, and Daryl had tried. He’d tried to open his exhausted, crusty eyes to see, but hadn’t had the strength. He wanted to sleep, but couldn’t sleep. Not when he could see in glorious high-definition technicolor exactly how it was Daryl’s fault- he’d been the one to kill Glenn Rhee.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

_“Now, I already told you people -- first one's free, then -- what'd I say? I’d shut that shit down!”_

_Negan laughed and swung the bat again, flinging off bits of blood and hair and Abraham’s skull onto the floor behind him._

_Sasha stared at Negan, her heart in her eyes, and it hurt Daryl to look at her. Rosita made a sound, and went towards Negan, who kicked at her absently, like swatting a fly.  Negan clucked and grabbed her hair, tangling his hands into the long strands. He started to drag Rosita towards Abraham’s dead body, and Daryl just couldn’t. He couldn’t ever stand to see a woman treated that way._

_He flung himself forward and got in one good punch to the miserable fuck’s jaw before having his legs kicked out from under him so he was forced to kneel at Negan’s feet._

_It wasn’t until he heard Rick’s anguished-sounding, “Daryl!” that Daryl was able to blink back to himself and realize the huge fuckin’ mistake he’d just made._

_Negan sounded downright jovial when he laughed, eyes narrowing from Rick to Daryl and back.  “Oh, no.That? Oh, my! That... is a no-no. The whole thing -- not one bit of that shit flies here. Ricky! Ricky m’boy, why don’t you come on over here.”_

_Daryl met Rick’s gaze, eyes wide and terrified for him. For_ Daryl. _Rick was terrified for what Negan was gonna do now that Daryl had given him a reason._

_Not that Negan needed a reason, really.  He was Negan, and that seemed to be all the reason he needed._

_“Looks like ol’ Ricky needs a bit of help, there. Funny. He must not give a fuck for his kid’s eyesight.” Negan sighed, shrugging. “All right then- I guess--”_

_“No. No, I’m moving. I’m--!”_

_Negan reached out with the bat and let some of the barbed wire tangle in Daryl’s hair. He yanked, and Daryl moved with it, too afraid not to. It was like being stone cold sober after a week of binge drinking. He was super aware of the sound of Rosita’s almost soundless crying, and of Glenn’s breathing next to him._

_“Oh nooo, Ricky. I think. I think it’d be better for everyone if you_ crawl _over to me. Come on now.”_

_And god help them all, Rick did._

_He crawled on his hands and knees towards Negan, eyes fixed on Daryl’s the entire time. Daryl could see the ‘steady on’ look- the one that broadcasted clearly enough for anyone that knew him that Rick Grimes would make this right. It was comforting in the way that having Rick around was always comforting. But terrifying because anything that put Rick closer to that fucking psychopath and his bat couldn’t_ possibly _be good._

_Negan arranged them so that  he was in the back, with Glenn and Daryl on their knees facing Rick, who faced Negan. Occasional drops of blood would land on Daryl’s cheek, or chin, on on Glenn’s ear. They both tried to flinch away from them, from how hot and thick it felt sliding down their flesh, but they couldn’t._

_“See, now Rick? You seem like a man that likes to control things. You coulda turned back. You had that piece of shit coward suicide himself while you guys tried to carry that sweet piece of ass- although, let me be honest honey, you’re not looking so hot- to the doc at Hilltop.”_

_Daryl felt Glenn tense beside him as Negan’s attention focused on Maggie.  Now that Negan pointed it out, Maggie did look awful, sick and trembling and too pale, even in the light put off by the cars and torches here in the woods. While him, Michonne, and Glenn had been tied up and separated from the group, some kind of massively fucked-up shit must have gone down for all of them to be here, like this. Like puppets on the end of Negan’s string._

_Rick didn’t respond to Negan. He was too busy looking from Glenn to Daryl, to what had to be the bat behind them, obviously desperate to think of a way out of this._

_“Hmm? Nothing to say?” Negan’s chuckle was dark and heavy with promise.  He whistled sharp behind his teeth, and Daryl could see all the men holding them captive tense at once, immediately ready.  “Guess we’re gonna have to change up the plan then. See Rick? You still think you’re in charge. You think you can control any fucking particular thing that’s about to happen, and all right. I can give you that. I admire a man making choices for the good of the many. Ain’t that the line? From that old Star Trek movie?”_

_One of the jokers with a gun to Maggie’s head nodded and guffawed, as though Negan had said the funniest thing ever._

_Daryl shut his eyes._

_He knew how this was gonna go._

_“See Rick? You get to be the big man again! King Shit of Turd Mountain! You’re gonna pick which one gets to live--” He set the bat on Glenn’s shoulder, “And which one Lucille gets to fuck.” He moved the bat to Daryl’s shoulder. It felt cold against his bare skin, and he couldn’t help but flinch away from it._

_In a stage whisper, Negan leaned forward. “Lucille’s my beautiful, beautiful bat, in case you didn’t put two and two together and get_ **thwock.** ** _”_ ** _Negan made a sound with his tongue in the back of his mouth that mimicked the sound Lucille had made when she broke Abraham’s skull._

_Daryl swallowed, and was too much of a coward to look at Rick.  Glenn was. . . well, Glenn. He was most of their light. He was goofy, and silly, and so goddamn in love with Maggie that they’d all done their damndest to protect that, just a little. He was about to be a dad, for fuck’s sake._

_Daryl knew he was about to die. He knew, and Rick knew, and everyone in that circle knew._

_Daryl chanced it; opening his eyes a crack, only to have them fly open then narrow in a glare when  he saw_ indecision _on Rick’s face._

_“Come on now! You get oh.. I’ll give you ten seconds cuz I’m just that swell of a guy. Ten’s all you get you prick. Or I’ll let Lucille fuck ‘em both up.”  Negan swung the bat so hard that the top of Daryl’s hair fluttered in its wake. “Ten, motherfucker.”_

_Daryl’s heart was choking him. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave Rick, or Carl, or Asskicker- or any of ‘em. He cared for all of his family, for every one of the people that were about to watch him die. He didn’t want that for them._

_“Nine.”_

_“But! Please, can’t you. . .” Hearing Rick’s voice crack hurt Daryl even more. He tried his best to communicate with his eyes that Rick just needed to say it. That it was_ **okay** _._

_It wasn’t. . . but Daryl wouldn’t have to live with it for very much longer._

_“Oh ho! Lookit this entitled fucking fuck! Here I am giving you plenty of time to pick- and you’re beggin’ me like some bitch on her knees. . . Please? Did you give my people a chance to beg for their lives, Rick? Before you killed them in their fuckin’ sleep? Before you_ burned them alive _?--”_

_Someone made a sound like something dying, but Daryl couldn’t tell who. He was too afraid to look away from Rick’s eyes._

_“-- Did they get to say ‘please no please?’ Fuck. You. Make a goddamn choice, Rick._ **_Five._** _"_

_“Oh god, Oh g- god, no I can’t. . . please.”_

_“_ **_Four_** _.”_

_Daryl felt something wet on his face, and he selfishly opened his eyes one more time, staring hard at Rick. Wanting to see him once  more. He nodded, trying not to notice that Negan had shifted his weight behind the two of them as though ready to take one across home plate._

_“_ **_Three_** _.”_

Several men moved into place, flanking Rick, Daryl, and Glenn.

_“I--.”_

_“_ **_Two.”_ **

_“Oh god!"_

_Daryl had never told Rick that he loved him._

_“_ **_One_** _.”_

_Rick’s voice was a tattered, broken thing when he finally spoke. “Daryl! I choose. . . Daryl.”_

_There wasn’t a sound in the entire clearing._

_Time_ **stopped.**

_Daryl had always heard that when you’re about to die, you relive all the important moments in your life, to look back and see what you’d accomplished in this life, before you moved onto the next one._

_Daryl only saw Rick’s eyes widen, watched tears spill over his eyelids and onto his cheeks._

_When the blow came, it came hard, a crack to the back of his head that sent him pitching forward into Rick’s arms. Daryl had just enough time to process that it_ wasn’t _a bat but Negan’s boot- he’d been kicked before the_ **_woooooooooosh_ ** _of Lucille gaining momentum made him cringe, he couldn’t help it. He was a coward, and he cringed away from the sound and into the safety of Rick’s arm’s- Rick, who had just chosen him, to kill him, to have Negan murder him instead of._

 **THWOCK**!

_“NO!!”_

_“First impressions are important. I need you to know me. And first thing, Rick? First thing you need to know is that YOU DO NOT GET A CHOICE. You aren’t shit! You aren’t even the shit on the bottom of a shit!“_

_Negan swung again, and Daryl watched from less than two feet away as Glenn’s skull caved in._

**_“YOU. DO NOT. GET. A. CHOICE.”_ **

_Negan swung, and swung again, the sound thick and meaty, but wet; the splat of the first slice of a watermelon falling onto your plate in the sweet July heat. “Buddy, you still there?”_

_Glenn, or what was left of Glenn, tried to get up, grunting and sputtering like he didn’t quite understand what was happening. Daryl heard Rick whistling, panicked breaths’, over and over and he wanted to curl up like a child with his hands on his ears to block out the scary stuff. But he couldn’t. He owed it to Glenn, He’d watch every fucking second and remember it, and never forget, because when it all came down to it, this was on him. This was Daryl’s burden to carry and he’d never, ever be able to drop it._

_“I just don't know. It seems like you're trying to speak, but you just took a hell of a hit. I just popped your skull so hard, your eyeball just popped out, and it is gross as shit!!”_

_Daryl watched as Glenn slurred, struggling to speak.  It was a struggle, and his poor, broken head oozed and sagged in places it wasn’t supposed to.  Glenn’s last words, his last thought before Negan beat the rest of his head to a paste would be something Daryl knew he’d never forget._

_“ Maggie. . .  I'll find you.”_

_  
_ _Ever._

* * *

At one point, Daryl gave in to his need to scream.

                                                                                     And scream.

And scream.

 

 

It didn’t do any good.

* * *

* * *

“Hey! Shitball! You might want to wake up a little for this.”  The man with the burned face, the one who’d killed Denise with Daryl’s own crossbow, who’d had his dick bit by Eugene, smiled. It was odd- the smile seeming too plastic, like it would melt off his face if he turned around too quickly. Daryl tried to sit up, but his head swam, and his throat was swollen shut. He gasped at the feel of his ribs- bruised or broken? grinding together in his chest.

The man was holding. . . a firehose?

Daryl had nowhere to go. He couldn’t escape the stinging, freezing water. Some dim part of his brain told him that it wasn’t a real firehose, that the pressure wasn’t strong enough, but it was so cold that Daryl lost his breath, cowering in a corner and choking for air. The man didn’t give a fuck, spraying his face.

It might not be a fire hose, but it had enough pressure to break open the cuts on his face and chest, causing millions of needle-edged drops to split him open again and again.  

“There! Good thing we have a drain in here. You’re fuckin’ lucky we didn’t go get the bleach. Oh, or the ammonia. That’d sting some I bet.”

Daryl curled up as small as he could,, trying to protect the softer bits, but since he was naked, there was no way to hide from the unforgiving, agonizing cold. Eventually though, the pressure died down, and the man used the hose to actually sluice Daryl clean, before turning the water on the corner of the floor Daryl had been forced to use as a bathroom. He’d tried to aim over the drain when he could, but he couldn't always make his body work how he wanted it to, so it had been messy, and pathetic.

The man and his two cronies slammed out of the door, turning on the music to cover the sound of their voices.

Daryl licked at the water on his face, then bent painfully to lick from the floor. He had the sense to stop before it made him sick, but it had been the first liquid to touch his mouth since before Denise had killed the walker in the car.

Denise--

She’d been funny. Goofy in a way. Stronger than she thought, and just starting to realize that she could do much more than she ever thought she could.  

Daryl flinched. He couldn’t cry. HIs tears were used up. His eyes stung as he watched her fall in the middle of the train tracks over and over until her face and Glenn’s and Abraham’s turned into one swirling mass of people who hated him for being so weak, selfish, stupid.

* * *

* * *

Daryl couldn’t get warm.

His teeth clacked together as he pressed his naked body against the cold metal walls, or the even colder floor. He was cold, cold, freezing, but.

He was alive when better people weren’t, so Daryl didn’t get to complain.

He didn’t mean to. Really. But sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder- how long? How long before he got his turn?

“Hey you. Shitball. You must be pretty hungry, right?” The burned-face man, Dwight- his name was Dwight -- that’s right. Daryl’d heard one of the goons refer to him by that name and hadn’t been able to remember. D-wight killed D-enise hurt D-aryl.

How could he have forgotten that?

Dwight came close enough to Daryl to give him a big sniff. “Well, at least you smell better. But, and I gotta be honest here, you’ve been a bit more trouble than we expected. Screamin at all hours of the day, fighting back, even with your dick hanging out for anyone to see. So I have a little plan. He opened his hand, and Daryl saw the little vial of liquid. Dwight set down the silver-topped tray to his left and fished in his pocket for something. He tore open the package and stuck the paper into the pocket of Daryl’s vest before popping the needle of the disposable syringe into the top of the vial.

“I need you to be calm, and complacent, man. You’ll do me this little favor, won’tcha? Don’t worry- it’s not enough to kill you. But you’ll be able to sleep. Without dreams.”  Dwight touched his ruined wreck of a face, eyes darting around the marks on Daryl’s face . “You’re gonna. You’re gonna want the after, man.” He leaned forward and if Daryl could have found the strength, he would have torn out Dwight’s throat with his fucking teeth. Some of that must have shown in his face, because Dwight leaned back immediately, his fingers gripping the syringe.  Dwight’s eyes narrowed. He kicked over the silver lid and Daryl’s eyes went to the bowl of noodles and soup that sat there, steam still wafting lazily up towards the ceiling.

Daryl’s eyes pricked with tears.

In the end, he held out for only eight more times of Dwight parading succulent-smelling food under his nose. Once, he actually threw some kind of meat at Daryl like an animal.  Daryl was ashamed, but ate it.  When Daryl broke, he didn’t go for the food, which is what Dwight expected.

He went for Dwight.

Daryl got his hands around Dwight’s throat, and was finally squeezing _squeezing_ **_squeezing_ ** before he felt a jab in his neck, and something wrong, like heat and burning and.

 

 

 

s    h   i    t

 

 

* * *

Daryl heard voices. He heard Merle’s distinctive cackle, and Rick’s quiet sadness. He heard a voice he didn’t know whispering in his ear, and no. That wasn’t right. Rick wouldn’t say things like that. He jerked away, batting at the hands touching him.

Someone was touching him. Holding him down, their hands heavy on his wrists.

“What the fuck? I spend a well-deserved few days with the loves of my life and I come back to this? His fucking lips are fucking blue!”

Fucking lips. Fucking blue Flue? Flll-bluue? Daryl hiccuped a little laugh.

“Jee-zus hopped up jumping Christ. Get him some fucking sweats. Some water. A bucket to shit in, Christ. We’re supposed to be the good guys here!”

The door slammed and everything was still so pleasant, and floaty.  Dwight had been right (ha! And that rhymed! hahaha!) and Daryl had slept. Slept without dreaming or nightmares, or waking up screaming.

It was nice, really.  The man with the bat had been right.

They really were one of the good guys.

* * *

* * *

Glenn was crying.

Daryl sat there calmly, straddling his bike. He didn’t quite know why Glenn was so upset, but knowing him, it had to be because of Maggie.

“I think. I think Maggie is cheating on me.” The younger man sucked in a shuddering breath, like he was trying not to sob outright.

Daryl managed not to laugh in Glenn’s face, but it was a near thing.  “Why--”

“She’s. . . not talking to me. She won’t look at me.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly, enjoying the sun on his arms and chest. Which- there was something wrong with that. Daryl didn’t show anyone his chest, or his back, right?

No. That couldn’t be right. The sun felt nice and warm, and Daryl stretched a little, feeling his joints pop.

“You sure that’s what’s wrong? Who’d she be cheating on you with, man? That girl loves you more’n anything.”

Glenn sniffled and looked up at Daryl. There was something. . . not quite right with his face.  Daryl furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to place exactly what it was that wasn’t right.  

“She. She. . .”

But Daryl never found out what Maggie was doing, or whom, if anyone, she was doing it with.

He woke up with a gasp, shaking.  His eyes had long since become used to the dark box they kept him in, and shivering, Daryl reached out for the clothes that had been left near him.  It took several tries for him to dress himself.

Daryl knew that Dwight was on duty by the Song coming on.

It was almost two minutes long. He counted like his mama had showed him when he used to wait for thunder to pass. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. All the way to 150 Mississippis. If they repeated the fucking thing 30 times, that was roughly an hour. 60 was two hours. At best count, he’d heard the song 437 times in a row- which would have been a little over fourteen hours straight. When he was little, their trailer had been by a railroad track. It was a shipping line from Charlottesville to Atlanta, and the trains ran so frequently that after a while, _not_ hearing the clang of the crossing or the chug of the engine was strange. Same with The Song.  He almost didn’t hear it anymore.

Almost.

* * *

* * *

He was high the first time he ate the dog food sandwich. He didn’t even know what Dwight was giving him. Without being able to tell time, he had no idea if he was getting topped off every hour, or every day.   Daryl had puked, then tried eating it a little more slowly and it stayed down. Daryl had been hungry before, and while he’d never been that desperate, he wasn’t gonna let the scar-faced little prick have the satisfaction of killing him.

Funnily enough, and as disgusted as he was with himself, Daryl knew that if _Merle_ knew that he was fuckin’ high he’d beat the shit out of him. Merle had no problems sampling his own product, but the one time teenaged Daryl had gotten a little too curious for his own good about some of the cocaine Merle had been selling, Daryl’s bell had been rung good.

Weed, Merle didn’t care about. Pills, Merle would dole out sparingly, and only for things that involved broken bones.

With their dad, they’d had plenty of experience with broken bones.

Merle knew that he was a ‘no good, redneck piece of shit drug dealer’ but he tried to make damn sure that while he was around, Daryl was not any of those things.

Or maybe, he’d understand. He’d understand wanting some kind of escape. He might not _forgive_ him, but he’d understand.

‘Course, it wasn’t like Daryl had much longer to worry about his little habit anyway. Once Negan and his goons found a use for him, Daryl knew he’d be lucky to get a bullet to his head instead of the bloodthirsty Lucille.

* * *

Daryl forced himself to remember.

He remembered Rick’s face-- remembered the man he’d never, ever thought would want Daryl as much as Daryl wanted Rick. Who’d touched him so reverently, with needy, shaking hands and a mouth that couldn’t seem to get enough. When Jesus had woken he and Rick up the night after they’d fallen asleep holding hands, Daryl never knew that that would be their last night together.

If he’d known. . .

 _God_.

He would have made a special point of waking Rick up in the middle of the night, of seeing if he could suck Rick’s cock the right way, instead of the hastily improvised way he’d managed the night before. Not that that had been bad.

No. He’d just lie with him in that bed. Just. . . being together. The night before all this mess,  he’d been able to take a moment, to just breathe and listen to Rick’s soft breaths. Daryl had gotten up once to check on Little A, and Rick had flopped over to Daryl’s side of the bed, chasing his warmth. Daryl had carefully eased back into the bed, feeling like he was defusing a bomb, but not wanting to wake Rick up. He’d fallen asleep to the sound of Rick’s steady  heartbeat, and it had been one of the best sleeps of Daryl’s life.

Daryl sighed, ducking his cheek against the sweat material of his shoulder.

He remembered the way Judith would gigglescream for Daryl, holding out tiny, imperious arms and blatting at him until he cuddled her close. He’d never been someone’s daddy before, but god how he loved that little girl.

He remembered the rank sweat of Glenn and Michonne as the three of them had huddled together inside the dark truck they’d been stuck in for the better part of the day. They hadn’t talked much, but they’d all stayed in close contact, touching constantly. They knew it was gonna go bad, but Jesus christ, they’d never expected it to go quite like that.

He remembered that he’d not been able to find Carol that night, that she’d already gone off on her own walkabout. His heart hurt for her, because yeah. He knew what guilt felt like. He knew that she was stronger than he’d ever be, and he _knew_ she’d come out of this just as strong, but on her own terms.  She’d be so fucking pissed if she knew what had happened, and Daryl knew that this was probably better- that she never knew what had happened to all of them.

He didn’t hold it against her. She didn’t owe them anything, and while a lot of them saw it as a betrayal, Daryl understood needing to just go- to get away from all the bullshit and make sure everything was straight in your head before you were around other people.

Daryl’d been that way most his damn life.

Daryl pushed up the sleeve of his arm, and saw the raised red holes that showed how many times he’d taken a syringe full of whatever the fuck it was that Dwight was pushing.

Complacency?

Why would they need him complacent? Daryl scoffed, low in the back of his throat. They’d already done everything to him that they could do. He’d been beaten, and starved. He’d had water denied him and then hosed down like shit on the sidewalk until his flesh was stinging and shivering from the pressure of the hose. They’d kept him from knowing what day it was, or how long he’d been here.

They’d kept him from sunlight.

He’d been taunted endlessly while they beat him. Apparently Rick’s desperation had been pretty easy to read, and no one let him forget that his ‘boyfriend had thought that he was such a lousy lay he’d been willing to sacrifice him to Lucille’.

Daryl didn’t blame him. Glenn and Maggie. . . that. That was something special. Hearing Maggie sob once it was done was something that woke him up in the middle of the few times he’s been able to sleep normally, curling into a ball and causing him to shake and cry and cry until his face was a mess of tears and snot.

God, Maggie.

 

...

 

_(I’ll find you.)_

 

 

_..._

Rick and Carol both had done a lot for Daryl- done things that he’d never be able to repay. And Daryl would never, ever hold Rick’s decision against him. He understood. Really. He did.

But god, it fucking _hurt_.

* * *

When the door had opened and Dwight had come in, whistling,  Daryl’s first instinct had been slobbering, pitiful _relief._ He’d not expected this, the feeling of ants marching just under his skin, over and up and down and around his veins. He’d tried itching them, but some part of his fucked up, no-longer blissed out brain knew he was in withdrawal from whatever the fuck it was that Dwight had given him.

His second instinct had been desperation. If Dwight had asked him to do anything- _anything-_ if it made this sweaty, sick feeling go away, he knew he’d do it, and be thankful for it.

Some part of his brain understood then.

Complacency?

Fuck that.

_Absolution._

* * *

Dreams were funny.

Dreams had him in the sun, sweaty and working. His reward for working was water, and that was fine. His muscles hurt, and he was almost too slow (but it didn’t matter cuz this was only a dream and dreams never hurt no one) and he maybe spent a little too long looking at their teeth, at the way they drooled for the taste of something _alive_.

Did walkers dream?

Did they remember who they’d been while they’d been alive?

Someone might know. Daryl did not. Was he still Daryl? Daryl Dixon. Not Negan. NeverneverNO. Not Negan.

_Daryl._

But not. _DreamDaryl_ maybe? Yes. Yes, that fit.

Not real, just a . . . a dream.

The sun was nice though. Even though it hurt, sweeping down with huge heavy sunlight paws to strike Daryl right in the eyes. That was _not_ nice.

He was aware of movement, of riding in a car, of Dwight hissing something in his ear. The sharp bite of a bee sting, and the heavy bliss that slid through his veins, causing him to gasp and sigh.

For some reason, Daryl’s wrists and ankles were heavy. Oh. Chains.

Chains?

He never left his room. He never even asked anymore, or hit back at the men who still liked to hurt him, to punch his soft belly, or kidneys because they got ten points if they made him piss blood.

Truth be told, it was too hot.

Oh.

_Ohh._

He was home.

Home?

HomeRickCarlJudithCarolMichonneEricMaggieGlennRickAlexandriaSafetyRickFoodComfortRickLoveRick _RickRickRick._

But something was wrong.

Rick’s face.

His _eyes_.

 

 

Wrong.

 

 

                                              Wrong.

                                                                                                     

                                                                                       Wrong.

 

 

**W R O N G**

 

 

Rick wasn’t weak. His eyes were blue and loving and, saw _everything_ there ever was to see. His eyes didn’t look hopeless, or look like a broken heart ripped and bleeding from his chest.

But.

Butbutbut.

This was a dream. And everyone knew that dreams weren’t real.

But words?

_Maggie. . . I’ll find you._

Negan’s voice:  “Nope. He's the help.” a warm hand on his shoulder. DreamDaryl didn’t flinch away from it- even though he wasn’t Negan-he-was-Daryl. “Rick. You don't look at him, you don't talk to him, and I don't make you chop anything off of him. ‘Specially, after your last little stunt.”

But Rick’s face. His shoulders folded in, and he looked.

Beautiful.

Rick _was_ beautiful, even scared and sweaty, and Daryl wanted to thank him and beg him to make this stop. DreamDaryl knew that he could be good enough, could make Rick better if he just could touch him but no.

Nope.

‘ _Speak to any of them and I’ll chop off your dick. You’ll be too fucking high to notice.’_

Dwight was not very nice.

Not at _all._

Dreamtime moved, fast. A blink and he saw Carl holding Judith.

_(Jude? Little A? Babygirl- no, don’t cry.)_

He wanted to reach out to Rick so _much_.

His fingers twitched. Bad. Bad, fingers, no. No Dwight said. You can’t. Look at the sky or the ground, yeah the ground the ground but words. He heard Rick’s voice and oh god. Oh _God, what the hell was wrong with him?_

“I'd like to ask you if Daryl can stay.”

Negan’s arm around His. _His_ Not-Negan-But-Daryl’s shoulders, heavy, like a snake. DreamDaryl couldn’t help the flinch away from him.  “Not happenin'. You know what? I don't know. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe Daryl can sway me.”

Rick’s voice. “Daryl?”

Daryl?

He _was_ Daryl. Daryl-not-Negan. He had a voice. He had a question? To answer? To.

No. He was silent. He didn’t talk to anyone.  

Daryl was good. He _was_. A good one. A good egg. A good chip off the ol’ block. A good boy.

Negan laughed.  “Well, Ricky...You tried. Now what you got to do is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there. Earn for me. Because we're coming back soon, and when we do, you better have something interesting for us, or Lucille, she's gonna have her way. I want you to hear that again. If you don't have something interesting for us... somebody's gonna die.”

Dying?

No. No one else needed to Die. Needed to be death. No more death.  Not if Daryl was Daryl-not-Negan.

Dreams were funny.

But the dream didn’t explain why Daryl felt like he felt his heart break all over again.

He rocked a little in the back of the truck, and the chains clanked as he attempted to keep his balance.

It.

 

It reminded.

 

It reminded him.

 

It reminded him of.

 

_“Ah. Dwight... load him up.”_

_Daryl couldn’t look away from the ruin of Glenn’s head next to him. There was a tiny moth stuck in the blood and hair, and its little wings beat feebly, trying to escape._

_All he could hear was their crying. Glenn._

_God, Glenn._

_Glenn was their light. Glenn and Maggie and._

\-- “Daryl! I choose. . . Daryl.” --

_Daryl shuddered. He should be dead now. Rick decided; a shitty choice- forced into being judge, jury and executioner. Instead Rick had  knelt there, knowing that nothing would ever be the same. He’d done it. Made the hard choice._

_Daryl barely felt the arms that grabbed him, and didn’t fight when he was lifted into the back of the truck._

_“He's got guts -- not a little bitch like someone I know. I like him. He's mine now. But you still want to try something?” Negan stared down at Rick, who trembled, lost and broken after almost being forced to take Carl’s hand. Snot and tears and blood mixed on his face, and he looked absolutely lost.  Daryl could barely stand to look at him- because. . . they all knew. They_ knew _that Rick had been about to kill them all, to save his son._

 _Daryl_ understood _, even if the others did not._

 _He understood, cuz family was important. They were Daryl’s family, and he woulda done damn near everything._ Anything _to save them from this lunatic._

_Negan bent low, almost within kissing distance of Rick’s trembling, lips. “I will cut pieces off of... Hell's his name?” Negan looked over at Daryl, frowning._

_Someone spoke his name- “Daryl.”_

_“ Wow.” Negan laughed. “That actually sounds right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep -- or, better yet, I will bring him to you, Rick, and have you do it for me.”_

_Rick moaned at that, and Daryl flinched because that wasn’t right. Daryl shouldn’t have any power over_ anyone _and certainly not have someone care that much about his sorry ass. He couldn’t have said where the gumption came from. It was stupid, and Daryl_ knew _it was stupid, but absolutely nothing could stop him from doing it._

_He spat, twitching his lips so it arched through the air to land on Negan’s boot._

_Negan turned to face him, both eyebrows raised in comic surprise._

_“Fuck. You. You sorry piece of shit.”_

_Was that his voice? Did he really just do that?_

_“Damn, boy. You sure do like to bait the tiger, dontcha.” Negan sighed, like Daryl had disappointed him. Then he shrugged. “Well, all right then.”  He reached around and grabbed Rick by the curls once again, yanking hard enough that it shocked Rick out of the fugue state he’d been in. Rick’s hands came up to Negan’s, trying to relieve the pressure, and Negan dragged him to the truck._

_Oh_ no. _Oh_ , nonono.

_Negan tossed him hard enough that Rick had to fling his hands to brace himself against the bumper, or he would have been knocked senseless._

_“In, Ricky boy. Looks like you’re goin’ on a trip.”_

_“No! NO!” Carl screamed and started to fight the two that held him still, kicking and screaming. Michonne’s sharp, “Carl!” didn’t even faze him. He reminded Daryl of a trapped animal, and seeing it hurt his heart._

_“Come on kid. You wanna come with?” Negan pointed Lucille at Carl, and something, finally made the teenager stop fighting. One eye or not, his captors had scratches and the one on the left was squinting, like Carl had managed to knock him in the eye._

_“No.” Carl threw back his thin shoulders, his chin jutting out in a way that was all Rick at his absolutely most stubborn._

_“You sure? Gotta be honest here. For a future serial killer, you’re kinda cute. Like a puppy with a busted up paw or something.”_

_Carl’s glare- even with one eye- spoke volumes, but he at least, was smart enough not to say anything._

_“Come on daddy-o. Get your ass in the truck. I think we’re about done here. You, you and you, make sure these two fucks stay put. Find some rope, cuz I don’t imagine they’ll come quietly.” Negan turned to the rest of Daryl’s broken family, bending and sighing like he’d just bestowed some huge favor._

_“Ahh! Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits!” Negan laughed again and walked around to the front of the truck._

_Rick wouldn’t look at Daryl. Wouldn’t meet his gaze._

_Somehow. . . after everything. . . that hurt the most._

_Daryl wanted to reach out to him, to comfort. He wanted to hold Rick, and to feel Rick’s arms around him- to have him tell Daryl that the monsters weren’t really real._

_And that? That was dangerous._

_Daryl darted his gaze around the back of the army truck. The canopy was large enough, and it was still smoky from the fires that visibility was low.  Daryl’s muscles twitched as he looked at the men riding with them. One of them was smoking a cigarette, staring off into space. One was behind him, holding a gun towards where Rick sat almost at the very back of the truck, but not pointing it._

_It was pretty obvious that Rick wasn’t going anywhere, not for a good long while._

_The third, Daryl couldn’t see without shifting. He could feel him through, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of Daryl’s neck._

_Daryl shut his eyes. The rest of ‘em- Sasha, Maggie, Rosita, Aaron, even Eugene. . . they didn’t realize it, but they needed Rick. It might take him awhile, but he’d bounce back. He’d be strong, and ferocious, and Daryl would be_ fucked _if he allowed that twisted fuck Negan to use him as some kind of pawn against Rick again._

_Daryl knew this could go bad, but he also knew he had to try.  He took a deep breath, and kicked out, catching the one with the cig in the nuts, flinging his head back to headbutt the guy behind him. The other one fumbled, turning the gun towards Daryl, and Daryl punched him in his throat, sending him on his ass to the floor.  He took the gun, and bent at the waist, pulling Rick to him gently, and kissing him lightly on the lips._

_Then he pushed Rick backwards out of the slowly moving truck, hoping that the smoke would hide what he’d done._

_Rick rolled, but must have found some kind of fight in him because he jumped up, staring at Daryl as the truck rolled away._

_The last thing Daryl saw before he was knocked out by the goons was Rick running through the woods, running back to the people who loved him._

* * *

 

Daryl managed to get out, once.

All that got him was pictures of Glenn and another round as everyone’s favorite punching bag.  Daryl knew something was extremely fucked up when he almost welcomed the hits and blows to his body- at least then he felt something besides _numb_.

They lied in that song. It wasn’t “Comfortable” at all.

When Dwight left him Glenn’s picture, Daryl couldn’t look away.    
  
He knew that everything was on him. If he hadn’t been so mad about Denise, well, he wouldn’t have gotten Glenn and Michonne caught in the first place. If he hadn’t gotten so fucking _livid_ when Negan taunted Rosita’s pain, well. . . Rick wouldn’t have had to choose between Daryl and Glenn dying.

Daryl wondered if Rick was really caught? Surely not. Surely, they would have done something by now; it was pretty fucking obvious that each of them were the other’s breaking point.

Glenn’s legs had twitched. His fingers had too, like he was still trying to make his broken body reach for his wife, for the person he loved most in the world.  Daryl knew that if. And it was a big fucking if. _If_ he ever got out of here. If Rick and the rest of ‘em busted him out, or he managed to kill enough of the fuckers that had kept him prisoner, Daryl knew that he would do anything in his power to make sure that Maggie and her baby never wanted for anything.

Ever.

She probably wouldn’t want his help.

Daryl winced, remembering the sweetness of her and Glenn in the dark on the couch after they’d gotten home, of Maggie waiting up for him when he’d had to get out of the fucking walls before he killed someone. It had been just a tiny moment, something he’d taken for granted at the time. She’d offered him a pack of his favorite cigarettes, and had done something- a touch, a hug. . .

He was crying again.

Fuck, he was sick of crying.  Sick of hurting.

Sick of living?

No. No, he didn’t get to pussy out of whatever was in store for him. No taking the easy way out, not with what he’d caused.

He owed Maggie too goddamn much for that.

* * *

* * *

A nudge on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Another nudge, a little harder.

“You’ve got work to do. Get up.”

He knew that voice. That was Joe. No. Joey. In the old days, Daryl would have taken him with no problem. He liked the hose a little too much- liked aiming for Daryl’s balls, or laughing at the sorry excuse for Daryl’s dick after the ice cold water hit him.  He wouldn’t do anything when Daryl was coming down off a high, but he remembered touches, or whispered offers for more food or water, and once. . . a blanket. Stuff Daryl didn’t want to think about too much. Oh, Joey wasn’t dumb enough to do anything when someone could see.

But Daryl was immediately wary when he saw that Joey had shut the door behind him.

Funnily enough, Daryl knew that he owed the fat fuck for helping him get his head on straight. Inadvertently, of course. Whatever Dwight was giving him, it just wasn’t working quite the same way.

Daryl was no longer numb.

He wasn’t quite ready to act on the simmering anger that boiled just under the surface of his skin, but he was getting there.

Being no longer numb meant that he couldn’t hide from his culpability.   Being no longer numb meant that he was starting to notice that when Joey gave him the stuff there wasn’t as much as when Dwight gave him.

Fuckin’ _bastard_.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Sometimes he’d pretend.

Not fantasize, nothing like that. If his wandering thoughts got him hard, then he’d just ignore it. But truth to tell, he’d not really worried ‘bout that sort of thing. He was too filthy.

Thinking of that made him think of Rick.

Sometimes? He’d even hear his voice.

Trippy as fuck.  Drugs, probably, although the first time he’d peered at the vent, whisperin’ like an idiot, actually thinking that Rick was just over there.

He wasn’t of course.

_Stay strong, man._

‘M tryin’

_You need to try harder. Come on. Need to eat, at least._

Don’t like it, Rick. It makes m’stomach hurt somethin’ bad. It smells.

_I know. . . . Please? For me?_

 

 

For you.

 

Of _course_ for you.

 

 

* * *

The smell of the pine sol was making him sick.  It wasn’t like mopping was very hard- gross, but not _difficult_. He mopped up the shit stains from where they kept the animals, He mopped up the food from the common area, and he mopped up the blood that anyone tracked in from being outside on the fences.

(Daryl was honestly pleased that he wasn’t outside. While he wasn’t _as_ high as he normally was, he’d perfected the perfect amount to keep very, very calm. Being outside was by design, stressful.)

It was easy, and inside the compound it was relatively cool. And sometimes, when he brought the wives food, they gave him some fruit or some bread. Once, after they’d assured and assured him that Negan was out, they had let him take a quick sponge bath and let him shave.  He’d been so grateful that the’d cried, huddled in his cell, feeling pathetic.  

But _god_ , being clean, and not having that fucking hose turned on him, like he was a fuckin’ dog. . .

Once, he’d gotten the guts to ask them if Rick was here, but they’d gotten all weird, and no one had answered him. When he’d asked how long he’d been here, a little blonde girl that didn’t look any older than Enid had told him a month, but she wasn’t sure.

A month?

Was that even possible?

A month would mean--

Daryl caught sight of him walking behind Negan. Daryl was too far away to hear what was happening, but it was absolutely impossible that Carl Grimes was standing there, unharmed, un _armed_ behind that bat-swinging motherfucker.  

Negan had stared Daryl down, and Carl had looked at him almost like Daryl was a piece of the furniture. He’d been shocked, later when Dwight had brought Daryl to the room with the wives, but Carl had looked away, like Daryl wasn’t anything.

Panic.

Daryl’s hands had tightened on the mop handle, and he’d cleaned up the guy that had pissed himself when Negan and Dwight had melted his face- _fuck_ , the _smell-_  and Daryl had one goal, one desire in mind to go back to his room

_his cell_

And forget forget forget

Because he was right, he was right, fucking fuck no he didn’t want this didn’t want to be right not Carl here, anything. _Anything_ would be better than that sweet kid in with this pit of fucking vipers and they’d told him oh yes oh _yes_ they’d **told** **him** that Rick, that his _Rick_ had been captured and Daryl had gotten to live when they **killed** **Rick** cuz no way no no _no_ **_no_** way would Carl ever be here without his daddy and

\--this time Daryl welcomed the needle in his arm; the bite of the chemical in his bloodstream was the only thing that made any fucking sense.

his heart hurt

going

 

 

going

 

 

going

 

 

 _gone_.

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

**GO NOW**

Go?

Daryl turned over the note. A match and. . .

. . . the key to his bike?

He clenched his hand around the key so hard that the metal bit into his filthy hand then crumpled the note in his fist, then opened it, smoothed it out. He was having trouble breathing, and his heartbeat was too high. A bad hit? Too much? He didn’t know. He’d hallucinated again, hallucinated that Negan was taking Carl home, and Daryl? Daryl had threatened him but that was.

There was no home with no Rick and no way Rick would let Carl be captured.

Go.

Go where? With shaking fingers, Daryl reached out and touched the door handle. He cringed, waiting for the sounds of The Song. The bite of the hose. Negan’s deep, delighted belly laugh.  But. . . nothing. The door swung open, and . . .

GO!

Daryl stepped around the corner of his cell, and debated which way to go. He remembered a story- something about a mouse that had to go through a maze. The mouse would go, and go, and humans would fuck with his brain, and the mouse got so much smarter that it managed to escape the almost impossible maze, only to die at the end.

Well, at least he thought the mouse died. Maybe it lived. Whatever. Daryl felt like that mouse, felt certain that one way was death and one way would be freedom. He swallowed hard, huffed a breath, and went to his left.

_Careful, careful._

Daryl knew that he was forgetting something, but couldn’t quite remember what it was. He knew there was a reason he was trying this--

_Maggie. I’ll find you._

He crept slowly down the corridor and up some steps. He heard a door click softly shut ahead of him and froze, swearing that he heard the click of something on the concrete.

The click of a weapon? The click of a high heel?

Daryl bit his lip and tried to wipe some of the sweat off his face. He was soaking wet, and knew the clothes he was in were filthy.

Voices.

Oh shit.

He heard the sound of one thing spilling onto the floor, like a jar shattering on concrete, and Daryl flinched from the sound, his heart pounding like a desperate thing in his chest. He ducked back into one of the doors near the corridor, cringing behind the door and looking around quickly, shocked at his luck.

_Law of Averages, man._

Daryl moaned, low, like a dying thing.  He shook his head, hard. He swallowed hard enough that his throat clicked.

No.

Get out first. Find Maggie. Make sure Jude was okay. Tell them that Carl was here, maybe save him, and then by god that was all anyone could ask of him. He could--.

Sleep?

_Coward._

No, Rick. It’s not cowardice. ‘M just tired.

_I know you are, baby._

Daryl’s lips pulled in a tiny smile. It hurt. A scab or.

He tasted copper.

Not sure if I’m anyone’s baby.

_Guess that’s true enough. Not for lack of tryin’. Now I need you to do something for me, okay?_

Yes Rick. Anything.

_You promise?_

Yes. Anything.

_Stay here. Need you to listen for people. Change your clothes, try to blend in. Can you do that for me?_

Yeah, man. Of course I--

Daryl saw it and his mouth watered. His lis trembled slightly as his stomach lurched.

**P E A N U T  B U T T E R**

Daryl’s ate and ate. It was creamy and normally he absolutely _loathed_ peanut butter, but oh god. Oh _goooood_.

His mouth was dry. He found a swig of booze- some kind of rotgut, and saw clothes, just like Rick said. He dressed in an old t shirt, and a plaid over it, but the jeans didn’t fit. The disgusting, smelly, sweaty sweats would have to work. Daryl curled his bare feet on the carpet and finished the peanut butter with a spoon. God, it was amazing. He might puke it up later, but for right now, he thought he was damn near in heaven.  

The two that dropped the pickle jar cleaned up, and Daryl started to leave. His gaze was caught by something on a chessboard, and he froze, mind whimpering. He flinched, suddenly afraid.

_Daryl?_

That’s Dwight’s. This is Dwight’s room. He’s gonna. He’s gonna find me and hurt me more and

_Stop._

Daryl sucked in a breath, aware that his lips were trembling. He wasn’t sure if he’d said that out loud or not.  Suddenly the rage that had been bubbling just under the surface of his skin erupted and Daryl flipped the stupid fucking chessboard with the stupid fucking wooden carvings and listened at the door to make sure the coast was clear.

_Okay, go. Go!_

He went.

Through a door and a hallway before he saw light and knew that this was it, he was so goddamn _close_. There was a lead pipe pointing towards another corridor and Daryl  found the door with the matchbook sticking out of it. To his shock it opened into some kind of parking lot for all of Negan’s bikes.  He squeezed the key in his hand so tightly that he felt it cut into the bruises there and started to walk over towards the bike.

The sun was bright on his face.

The sound of footstep caused Daryl to whirl, hand gripping the  pipe.

“What the hell? Whoa.”

Daryl’s head spun. Joey looked different in the sunlight Less terrifying.

He looked kind of like he was gonna shit himself. It was obvious that Joey had been taking a break for a quick snack, and he heard Daryl come through the door.

“It's cool, I swear. Buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there, and I won't say anything to anybody. I'm supposed to be there now, but, listen, I'm --  I was just trying to get by, just like you.

Please.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. His skin crawled, remembering. Joey hadn’t hurt him, not really, but he’d been one of them. He’d let them hurt people, and when given the option of making it a little bit better, he’d made things worse.  He swung the pipe. He’d learned real damn good from one of the best, after all.

He swung again, and blood sprayed, arching up and hitting Daryl’s chin.

  
“Daryl.”

  
His heart was gonna beat out of his chest. Daryl was so dizzy he felt like falling over. He still swung though, not even realizing that someone was saying his name until he heard it again. “Daryl.”

_Jesus?_

Was this a trap?

No. Not with the way Jesus was staring at him, like he was. . . wary?

No. afraid.

Daryl dropped the pipe. He made himself stare at Joey, who was moving and moaning on the ground. Daryl hit him again and Joey was very, very still. Daryl saw a gun and bent to retrieve it, tightening shaking fingers around the grip. The sound of the pipe hitting Joey’s skull had sounded just like Lucille crushing Glenn’s head and the sound made Daryl’s stomach lurch, afraid he’d vomit right there.

Daryl shook his head. “It ain't just about gettin' by here. It's about gettin' it _all_.” Daryl scoffed, swallowing down the bile blocking his throat. “I got the key. Let's go.”

Jesus was careful with him in a way that made something deep and buried in Daryl growl, but got on the back of the bike amicably enough- perhaps he realized that they were on borrowed time as it was.

‘Course Daryl wasn’t 100% sure that this wasn’t either a hallucination or a trap, so he didn’t fault him for that, especially since the last time they’d met, they’d done their best to beat the shit out of each other.

Although, he wasn’t too fond of the pity he saw in Jesus’ wide eyes. That came through loud and clear, even as fucked up as Daryl was.  He revved the engine, took a deep breath that absolutely wasn’t tear-filled, and drove them the fuck out of there.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Hm?

“Okay now, that’s enough. Pull over in these woods here.”

Daryl blinked, realizing that he was so out of it that he’d dipped on the bike, almost sending the two of them sprawling onto the pavement. Shit. Had to thank Merle for the endless hours spent on a bike- he’d really be fucked if he didn’t have some sort of muscle memory that kept him from killing both of them.

Daryl slowed down, then turned off into the woods. Jesus was right. Probably best to break for a minute. The space under his skin was starting to itch again, and Daryl swore under his breath, just barely sober enough to know what that was gonna mean.

Jesus was oddly respectful of the space between them, not resting his hands on Daryl for balance. He swung off the bike quickly, and Daryl overbalanced, tripping a little as he over compensated and stumbled.

The sharp bite of the bark on his palms made him gasp in a shuddering breath, then he was pressing his forehead to the tree, sobbing.

He couldn’t have stopped for anything.

He was long past whining about what was _fair_ and _unfair_ , but it seemed impossible that a useless, doped up piece of shit like himself was here, alive, relatively unscatehed, when someone as _vital_ as _Rick_ fucking _Grimes_ was dead.  Daryl was disgusted at himself; body shaking, stomach tightening with cramps.

“Uh--. Look. Forgive my intrusion, but I don’t think you should go back to them quite yet.”  

Daryl looked up through bleary eyes, following Jesus’ gaze to where the plaid shirt sleeve had ridden up, exposing the tiny red pinpricks on the inside of Daryl’s elbow. Some of them were pretty scabbed over, and one looked to be infected from where he’d broken the skin by his constant itching.  

Daryl didn’t think he’d ever felt such complete and utter _shame_ in his life. He jerked his sleeve down with trembling fingers.

Jesus held up both hands, much like he had when they first met. “Look. I can’t even imagine what you. . . . what’s gone on. But I have a hideout not too far from here. I know you’ve got no reason to trust me here, but I think you might need to just. . . rest.” He winced, obviously trying to pick through the minefield of the wreck that Daryl had made of things, attempting not to offend.

Daryl brushed his sleeve over his eyes and realized his whole body was trembling- not just his fingers. Jesus took a step closer, and frowned. “Look, I’m not sure how to do this. I’m about three seconds away from just knocking your ass out and taking you over my shoulder, but I also feel we’ve got this tentative trust thing going for us, so if you could oh, I don’t know. Give me some sort of sign here?”

Daryl swallowed hard.

He was so fucking _tired_.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have a choice, because he did. He could roll out of here right now. Daryl didn’t know where he was, but he could find it on a map, make his way back to Alexandria. He could figure his shit out.

or

Daryl’s throat was tight when he slowly reached out with a shaking arm to hand Jesus the key.

Jesus’ breathed out long and slow. “Okay. Okay then.”

Daryl sniffed wetly and ducked his head.  He flinched away from the warm hand on his shoulder, but then stood there, knowing that he desperately needed the help.

“Come on then. It’s not far.”

Daryl didn’t remember much.

He remembered the wind on his cheeks, and pushing this face into the middle of Jesus’ back to block out the sting of it in his eyes, but directions? Daryl couldn’t have told anyone where he was if someone had tortured it out of him.  He didn’t sleep- some kind of self-preservation instinct he supposed later- but one long  blink  and he was swinging on the bike behind Jesus and the next the bike was rolling up to what looked like a cellar in the middle of woods.

Daryl tried to dismount off the bike and fell to the ground, nauseated and shaking.

“Whoa- _shit_! Let me stash this then I can see to you. Uh. Try not to die. I’ll be right back.”

If Daryl had the energy, he would have flipped off Jesus.

It could have been minutes, or hours before Daryl felt Jesus’ cool hands on his skin. “I checked the cellar and it’s good. No sign that anyone found it. Here try to stand- lean on me.”

Daryl made it to his knees before the dark that had been threatening overcame him, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.                                                                                  

* * *

 

 

Someone was humming.

It was nice; a tenor that had perfect pitch. Daryl didn’t recognize the song, but he immediately trusted the voice. The idea of trusting someone so much was so _wrong_ that Daryl tensed, still with his eyes shut, playing possum as he took stock of his body. Of where he was.

His head felt fucking awful-- pounding headache, mouth that tasted like a dead monkey’s nards, exhausted, gritty feeling to his eyes. He started to move. . .

Daryl’s eyes flew open when he realized he was cuffed to the bed. His body bowed almost without his conscious thought as he _pulled,_ bracing his feet against the foot of the bed.

He barely had the strength to manage a weak tug. Daryl moaned, frustrated by how weak he was.

“Whoa! No, it’s okay. Daryl. It’s _okay_.” Jesus moved into his line of vision. In Daryl’s panic he still realized that the other man sported a thick lip- not quite busted open but swollen and red. “Take a breath. Come on, the cuffs are ‘cuz you tried to brain me the first two times you woke up.  I’ll unlock you as soon as you calm down.”

Daryl’s gaze darted around the small room. A small amount of light streamed in through filthy windows, and he could see that Jesus had been sitting in a rocking chair as close to the light as he could. A beat up copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkababn_ lay  precariously on the arm of the rocking chair, ready to fall off with the slight rocking motion of the chair.  No one else was there. There were some blankets and things in a corner, and a rubbermaid plastic container.  He could see a large water tank across from the bed, and what looked like a rusty locker in the other corner.

“Hey, man. I need you to listen to my voice. Look at me, okay?”

Daryl’s panicked gaze shot to Jesus’ wide blue gaze, and he swallowed the panicked lump in his throat. His heart rate felt like it was going a hundred beats per minute.

“Good. That’s good. You. Are. _Safe_. This is the third time you’ve woken up. The first time you were still detoxing, and the second you thrashed around so much you fell out of the bed. When I went to help you, you socked me in the mouth, then passed out. You’ve been with. . . with Negan for little over four weeks, but as soon as you’re back to your normal, smiley self, we can go back to Alexandria.”

Detoxing?

_Alexandria. Rick._

“H-how. H-how long--”

“How long have you been gone? Since that night. My days might be a bit fuzzy, but like I said, it’s been-”

“ _No_!” Daryl fought to get the words out. “How long has Rick been d-d-dead?”

Jesus’ brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about? Rick’s in Alexandria.”

Daryl froze. He didn’t know what expression was on his face, but Jesus leaned forward, grasping his shoulder.

“But. Carl. Carl was in. In with--” The fuzzy memory hurt so much that Daryl’s heart shivered in his chest. “With Negan. An’ he wouldn’t be there if Rick--” Daryl felt himself getting more and more upset. He couldn’t stifle any of the emotion bleeding through his broken words. Towards the end, the words were so rushed that they tripped over one another in their haste for Daryl to speak-- to _understand_.

“Daryl. Hey. _Hey.”_ Jesus bent forward, unlocking the cuffs and moving so that his other hand rested lightly on Daryl’s wrist. “Rick is fine. Upset, of course, but not hurt. Carl-- well, that kid has a mind of his own. He infiltrated the Sanctuary himself. Negan took him back to Alexandria, and that’s why he wasn’t there when you escaped. You were there. You saw me on the top of the truck.” His voice was low, steady. “Come on, now. Breathe in when I breathe and exhale when I exhale. You’re okay; you’re having a bit of a panic attack, but Rick. is.  Okay. I promise, everyone is okay. Except, you know. The guys in the woods.”

Daryl felt his face scrunch up, and mortified, he curled up and away from Jesus crying relieved and slightly hysterical tears.  HIs chest heaved, and it was difficult to catch his breath.  He’d been so. So _sure._ He completely run to the crutch of forgiveness given by the gentle grasp of whatever poison Dwight had given him to dull the pain of believing that Rick was... _convinced_ that they’d taken Rick, just like they’d said. _Convinced_ that Carl had been taken, just like him.  Negan had threatened to have Rick cut off Carl’s fucking _hand-_  how much more would he have done?

Some time later, when the sobs had trickled into spastic gasps, and his head throbbed like the beat of a drum,  Daryl became more aware of his surroundings. He heard a door creak, and the sound of Jesus’ feet as he came closer to where Daryl still lay, huddled on the bed.

“We uh. We have water. I rigged up a system to capture rain and the two tubs are full. I made a fire outside, so we can warm some up.  I’ve got soap and if you’re hungry, some jerky.”

Daryl sniffed wetly. He felt oddly wrung out, like a husk of a person waiting to be filled in. Swallowing, he sat up and forced himself to look at Jesus. “Thanks” he managed, his voice a wreck.

Jesus just shrugged a shoulder, like it was no big deal. But it was. Daryl knew that it was. He felt odd about the kindness, until he made his slow shaky way outside of the cellar.  It was cloudy, and the sun was almost down, which is why he supposed Jesus had risked making a fire, even one as small as his.  Two large pots of water were boiling, and two more sat steaming next to them. Jesus had a large cooler to mix the water in. It wasn’t big enough to take a bath in, obviously, but Daryl knew he could get clean enough with it.

He suddenly wanted, very much, to be clean.

Daryl dipped one of the empty pots in the large barrel and used it to wash his hands first, then his face. The water felt incredibly cold and Daryl shivered as he splashed it over his face, sluicing the dirt and dried blood, snot and sweat off his face. He very carefully didn’t think about the hose from his cell.  Daryl attacked his face with the soap and what looked like it had been someone’s dishtowel, scrubbing his skin clean. He pulled off his shirt and shucked the filthy sweats, kicking both roughly into the fire, grinning tightly when he saw them catch fire.

Daryl ignored the shakes, using the ice cold water for his neck, his chest, his armpits and trying to get the worse of the grime off before he used the mixed water to really get clean.  He scrubbed and scrubbed, feeling lighter each time he dumped out the filthy, used water.  Daryl vaguely remembered some of the wives taking pity on him and letting him wash some of his body before, but this was thorough. He washed his ears, and brushed his teeth for what felt like an hour. When his gums bled, he gargled with some baking powder and water and brushed again. He washed his ass and his balls, his cock and in between his toes. He got the shit out from under his nails, and washed his hair three times.

It was fully dark when he stopped.

Jesus had put what looked like a pair of Dickies, a tshirt and a plaid shirt near the cooler, and shivering in the cool night air, Daryl pulled them on over wet skin. Jesus put out the fire and they went back downstairs, setting sound traps for the dead that would wake them up if any stumbled into their camp.  

Daryl realized that he was exhausted. He barely noticed that Jesus had used the fire to cook some food, and had unearthed something that looked like generic gatorade and tasted like cat piss. He couldn’t manage much food, but he had three bottles of the sports drink, feeling like he could drink three more with no problem.

“Hey.”

Daryl started, shocked. He blinked wide-eyed at Jesus, startled at hearing the syllable of sound. “We’re going back to Hilltop tomorrow. I think you’re past the worst of the withdrawal by now, yeah?”

Daryl felt the heavy shame stain his cheeks and looked down at his feet, unable to meet Jesus’ calm gaze. Daryl had the feeling that Jesus had been operating under the assumption that Daryl had been an unwilling participant in his use of the drugs that had burned so brightly through his veins.

Jesus kicked the fire out, and they two of them waited a beat, making sure they’d regained their night vision before walking the few steps to the door Daryl kept a towel to get his feet, since he had to walk barefoot to the cellar door. “Come on, then.”

Daryl nodded in the dark and followed Jesus down the few stairs. Daryl stood to the side, while Jesus went back up to retrieve what he needed, and listened to the familiar sounds of someone locking up and prepping the place with sound traps that would let them know if any walkers stumbled across their shelter.

Daryl  shrunk back against the door when Jesus brushed by him, watching as Jesus lit a tiny candle, just big enough to give out the tiniest spread of light. Jesus then crossed to the windows and fixed heavy, dark curtains over the windows. Once the place was as dark as he could get it, Jesus lit a storm lamp and Daryl got his first look at the cellar, or basement, or whatever it was of the house that they were squatting in. The barrels of water had been rigged, but stood off to the side, clearly marked with ‘safe’ and ‘unfiltered’  There were several crates of things stacked neatly in the corner, and what looked like a duffel bag of medical equipment near the bed that Daryl had slept in.

“Hey man. I meant it. Go sleep. We can figure all this out in the morning.”

Daryl twitched one shoulder in a shrug, but wiped off his feet with the towel, spreading it out over a step on the stairs to dry neatly before turning and making his way to the iron-wrought, single bed across from the window.  The bedsprings creaked as he got in.  Daryl still felt like his brain was packed in cotton as he lay down. The blankets and sheets smelled clean, and a little like Jesus’ shampoo.

He could only feel so guilty for so much before he knew he just had to accept the endless little kindnesses Jesus had given him. Daryl pushed his wet hair back and curled onto the bed, listening to Jesus putter around the room. He heard a zipper and saw Jesus shake out a sleeping bag, then extinguish the lantern.

The night bugs sang, and Daryl wiggled a little in the warm nest of blankets, blinking a little too quickly as his throat tightened.  He bit his lip, but ultimately had to know.

“Why you doin’ this for me?”

Jesus sighed.

“Honestly?”

Daryl winced. He wasn’t sure if he wanted honestly right now. But, then again. . . honesty was always easier in the dark, when you could hide.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“When I last saw you and Rick, I felt like some kind of murderer. I didn’t. I mean. I didn’t expect that you two were . . . a thing. And trust me- as much as I hate the term ‘gaydar’, mine is pretty damn good.” Jesus snorted a laugh.

Daryl  remembered that morning so long ago, before the cell, and  Glenn in the woods, and Denise. . . that last, practically unbelievable night with Rick.  The morning after had found him standing there like a total idiot, pointing a knife at Jesus while he stood there, staring at the two of them with both eyebrows almost lost under his stupidass hair.

He and Rick had each met the attacker head on, Rick with his Colt and Daryl with the weapon he had at hand- which had happened to be a bottle of lube- and Jesus had very clearly had to bite the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t laugh at him.  

“I hated waking the two of you up. You were curled as closely to Rick’s back as you could get without using him as an actual blanket.. It was. . . nice.” Daryl listened as Jesus cleared his throat a little ruefully. “Not just cuz Rick has a really great ass.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed in the dark, jealousy shooting through him like the drugs he’d so recently sweated and vomited out of his system.

“After the truck, I went back to Hilltop convinced that you two were someone I could trust. I woke up and got out of that cell- you’ll wanna watch the ceiling tiles by the way- and I guess just seeing the way you two were so . . . you just knew exactly where the other one was gonna be.” Jesus paused. “When I heard you’d been taken, I just knew I had to do my part to get you guys back to that.”

It was several minutes before Daryl could manage to make himself get a raspy “thanks” out of his too-tight throat.

“You made it through, man. Not whole. Not without something that’s gonna fight you every minute of every day of your life, but you made it through. Rick’ll be so proud of you.”

Daryl lost the battle with keeping the tears at bay. He didn’t sob, not like before, but one, single tear snaked its way down his cheekbone, before dripping into his ear. “What the hell do _you_ know about it?”, he asked, suddenly angry, flustered and disgusted with himself.

The silence was extremely loud. Daryl heard Jesus shift in the sleeping bag, as though he was turning over, or turning to put his back to Daryl.

“You’d be surprised. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

The words were flat, eschewing any return conversation, and made Daryl feel like shit.

He didn’t know what to say to make it right; his natural reticence and the awful situation that he now found himself,  making Daryl second-guess every half-assed apology he composed in his head. Before he could get too far, sleep overtook him in its gentle arms, and Daryl didn’t worry about anything anymore.

 

* * *

 

Daryl woke up with his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t quite catch his breath, and his shirt stuck unpleasantly to his back with a cold sweat.  He stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his thundering heart.  
  
He couldn’t tell what time it was.  He could hear Jesus snoring to his right, a sound that was normal enough that it helped him to orient himself.  Hell, Jesus would probably find it hilarious that Daryl was using the timing of the man’s snores to regulate his own breathing.  
  
He sat up, and looked around. By now his night vision had cleared up, so he could see faintly in the tiny bit of daybreak that peeked through the curtains. Daryl didn’t think for a second that he hadn’t woken Jesus up- especially after the buzzsaw-like snores abruptly stopped, but the other man was still burritoed in his sleeping bag, obviously with no plans to get up.  
  
Daryl walked as silently as he could up the stairs, and dismantled the sound traps. He made sure he had his knife ready, and went outside to see what he could get set up.

Really was the least he could do.

The smell hit him first; rot and decay of a walker that had been around for awhile.  Rick had done a bit of a study on how slowly the walkers decomposed, because they often found that they had a lot of goddamn time on their hands, and this one must have been around since the beginning. In the early morning light, Daryl could just make out the maggots squirming unpleasantly in what looked like a broken collarbone where the skin had partially ripped away.  It was slow, and Daryl welcomed the spurt of adrenaline when he stepped forward to take it out.

He blinked, staring down at it sprawled in the brush. Absently, he flung the excess viscera off and wiped the blade on his borrowed pants. His heart thudded in his chest and it took Daryl a few minutes to recognize the feeling buzzing just under his skin.

He felt… useful.

Needed.

A snap of a branch to his left sent Daryl whirling, only to come face to face with a startled looking doe. Instinct had him throwing the knife, and he was stunned when it connected right in the doe’s heart, sending her crashing into the brush of the clearing, killing her immediately.  
  
When Daryl’s lips stretched in a grin, the muscle memory was so out of the norm that it surprised him.  
  
“Good one.”  
  
Daryl jumped, whirling towards the cellar door. Jesus stood there, and it was screamingly obvious that he’d been there for awhile, watching Daryl take out the walker and the doe.  
  
Daryl couldn’t help the pleased tingle of warmth that spread out from his chest at Jesus’ approval. It was such a stupid, singular thing to be proud of, but Daryl had been hunting, field-dressing, butchering, and eating his own deer since he was eleven. He’d hunted for the group before they were a strange little family, and hunted for them as they all grew to trust one another. The simple act of being able to provide gave Daryl a sense of serenity that was astoundingly welcome from the numbness and terror from his weeks in captivity.  He twitched a shoulder in acknowledgement of the compliment, and turned back to the doe.

“We can dress it and take it with us. Might be a bit awkward on the bike, but I have a car not too far away, and she should fit in there.”

“How long ‘til we hit Alexandria?”  Daryl crouched, ignoring the way his knees popped and leaned to start the first cuts. Autopilot took over as he field-dressed the doe, waiting almost absently for Jesus to respond.  
  
Daryl only frowned once he realized Jesus had shifted his weight, staring down at the ground instead of meeting Daryl’s eyes. Daryl might not be the best with people, but he could read body language like a champ. He’d had to learn quickly, and he’d had to make sure his lessons stuck. Everything about Jesus- his lack of eye contact, the way his shoulders hunched in slightly, the way he scuffed the toe of his boot on the dirt- all showed a sudden guilt about something. Daryl narrowed his eyes and Jesus huffed a short breath.

“We can’t go to Alexandria, man. Negan’s been popping in, messing with Rick and the rest. I think it’s be easier, and safer, to sneak you into Hilltop.”

Daryl looked back down at the bloody doe and continued in silence for awhile. “I can take care of myself.”

Jesus hunkered down, waiting patiently until Daryl met his gaze. “It’s not you, man. They find you with Rick or his people, that’s it. If you go to Hilltop, we can argue that no one there. . .”

“Knew I was there. _Fuck._ ” Daryl frowned again, feeling his throat tighten uncomfortably. The thought of Negan even _touching_ any of his family, of doing to _them_ what he did to _him_ had his heartbeat increasing. Daryl’s hands started to sweat and he tightened his hands into fists, desperately trying to stave off the beginnings of a panic attack. His stomach rolled at the hot smell of blood from the game, and Daryl swallowed hard, sucking in a deep breath.

It took him a second, but he pulled himself out of it, pushing back the nausea and finishing  field-dressing the meat. Jesus brought one sheet to tie up the meat and one sheet for the skin- Daryl had half a mind that Carol could do something with it once it was cured- and twenty minutes later they were in the car and on the way to the Hilltop.

 

* * *

* * *

In the end, Daryl chickened out.

He was too much of a coward to look Maggie in the face, and asked that Jesus bring him in a back way.  Jesus obviously didn’t agree with him, but he didn’t argue, setting Daryl up in a trailer and bringing in the venison as his own so that no one knew that Daryl was even here. Daryl felt like something dark and disgusting was smothering him, and knew that he’d have to deal with his guilt sooner or later.

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

Daryl lay naked in bed, his heartbeat thundering in his throat. He felt like an army of bugs were crawling incessantly just under his skin, and there was so much sweat pouring off his body that he felt like he’d wet himself.

He’d heard her voice.

Soft, sweet, heavy with sorrow. He wanted to hug her and beg her for. For.

Daryl turned away, disgusted with himself.

Jesus had already taken away Rick’s Colt with an apologizing grimace, but Daryl didn’t fight him. He was weak, and . . . trembling on the precipice of a cliff so dark that it scared him.

He couldn’t stop the constant rubbing of tender skin, or the sharp twitching of his muscles, nor the spiking cramps in his gut and calves. His head pounded; a migraine burning just behind his eyeballs and in his temples.

If this was withdrawal, he wasn’t sure he could---

 _God._ He was such a fuckup.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

The light tapping of fingers on his door sounded as loud as gunshots in the quiet room. After a cold bucket sponge bath, some ginger water (Jesus swore by it.) and about four hours of sleep he felt better. Hollowed out and shaky, but more like himself.  

“Come in.”

Daryl almost swallowed his tongue when Sasha and Enid barged into his trailer both with similar stubborn looks on their faces. Daryl froze awkwardly on the bed when Sasha hugged him, and looked to Enid with panicked eyes. He was horribly aware of the marks on his chest, and of the fact that the clothes Jesus had given him were stained with sweat. He’d pulled on the boxers, but couldn’t bring himself to put on the blood-spattered clothes. The bedsprings squeaked when Sasha let him go, and Daryl found himself unable to look at her, remembering the sound of Abraham’s skull splattering under Lucille’s sharp bite.  

“Here’s some clothes. You need to come outside.”  Enid’s voice was clear, and Daryl, despite the age difference, much prefered her bossing him around than Sasha crying all over him.  “Maggie says there’s work to be done.”

Sasha wiped her eyes and nodded at him with a sniff. She turned to the bucket of cold water and splashed her face, breathing in a deep breath.  “Enid’s right. Best you get moving.”

“Not sure if that’s. . .”

Sasha and Enid stared at him with matching unamused looks, and Daryl found himself nodding meekly, dressing in the dark denim shirt and jeans. The sleeves were a little small for his shoulders and biceps, but he made it work.  Enid held out a pair of boots that looked like something he’d have in his own closet back home, and Daryl had to smile a little to himself.  He didn’t know the kid very well, but he could see a lot of Maggie in her, and that was only a good thing that she’d taken this teenager under her wing. She was a little younger than Bethie, but having her around was good for all of them.

‘Course, maybe if she smiled a bit more. . .

Daryl mentally slapped his own forehead. Pretty damn ironic to have _him_ of all people commenting- even if in his own head- on the lack of someone smiling.  If Rick were here he’d—

Daryl shut that thought down _quick_.

“C’mon.”

The few people Daryl saw seemed nice enough, but he wasn’t interested in starting any conversations, no matter how polite and well intentioned they might have been.

Sasha and Enid met up with Jesus near a— and Daryl couldn’t believe his eyes even when he rubbed them and looked again— blacksmith stable, and Daryl begin hauling wood for a fire. He couldn’t say how long he worked only that he worked up a sweat and surprisingly an appetite by the time he heard a shout from the gate.

“Sasha! Enid!”

Daryl paused, hearing Maggie’s cry. She didn’t sound panicked or scared, but the joy in her voice made something broken deep in Daryl’s heart start to heal.

Jesus appeared almost out of nowhere, handing Daryl Rick’s colt. “Here, shove this in your pants or something. You gotta see this.”  He appeared almost giddy, his whole face lighting up with something that made the tiny spark in Daryl’s heart shiver with hope.

Daryl  heard the gate creak as he rounded the corner and it was such a shock, such an utter breath-stealing surprise, that Daryl couldn’t have moved if Negan popped up behind him with Lucille ready to swing.

Daryl’s gaze drank Rick in like dry soil sucked up water from the rain.  He felt every muscle in his body freeze as Rick wrapped his arms around Maggie, then separated, looking down at her. From as far as they were, he heard Maggie murmur something, and Rick’s voice, carrying faintly in the cool breeze of the early afternoon.

“You were right right from the start. You told us to get ready to fight. I didn't listen, and I couldn't.I can now.”

Maggie stepped aside, turning to look towards him, and Daryl had no idea how she could have _possibly_ known that Daryl was there, but then Rick was walking towards him, his face shining with hope, blue eyes fierce with some emotion that Daryl couldn’t name, and Daryl was shaking shaking _shaking_ and it didn’t matter that Daryl _tried_ he fucking **tried** to hold back and just nod his greeting because Rick was there, he was right _there_ with his strong arms and his comforting scent of sandalwood and peppermint and Rick’s trembling, unbelieving whisper of _Daryl?’_ broke his fucking _heart_.  Rick’s hand came up to cup the back of Daryl’s neck, and Daryl felt himself almost collapsing in on himself, resting his forehead into the jut of Rick’s collarbone, and knowing that Rick was there, he was _fucking right there_ to hold him up.   _This was real._ This was _happening_ right now and Rick’s arms were too tight, and not tight enough, and it was impossible that he was here and Rick was here and they were all _here_ and somehow, _somehow_ they’d made it and.

Daryl pulled away for a moment, lips trembling as he took a step back. He was crying, overwhelmed, and all too aware of the eyes on him. It seemed important- even though Daryl almost caved when Rick took a partial step forward, as though he wasn’t ready to part with his and Daryl’s hug quite yet.

He couldn’t speak when he handed Rick his Colt, and Rick’s shocked face was worth _everything_ , even though Daryl knew that he’d be explaining exactly what had happened at the Sanctuary in great detail in the not-too-distant future.  Rick reached out and clasped his forearm in thanks, absently shoving the gun into its holster before hauling Daryl back in.

Rick’s lips on his were delicate, tentative, as though he wasn’t sure of their welcome. His callused hands cupped Daryl’s cheeks, and Daryl shut his eyes with a tiny, broken sound. Dimly, as though from very far away, Daryl heard the sounds of surprise from his family gathered around all of them and realized that he’d been standing there like a total stump and _Rick was pulling away_. Daryl brought his own hands up to Rick’s shoulders, then slid up the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in Rick’s curls as he kissed him back until spots danced in front of his eyes from lack of air. They drew apart, but couldn’t quit each other’s space completely, instead resting their foreheads against each other’s.

“Well, God _damn_.” Michonne snorted and Daryl felt his face flame as he winced, embarrassed by the very public display of affection. “I’d say that you should go get a room, but I’m afraid you’d have to sell tickets to the show.”

“Oh sweet dancing _fuck_ ; I’m gonna need so much therapy.” Carl groaned, and everyone laughed, breaking the moment on purpose.  Daryl turned to hug Michonne, her tiny body always shocking him, then Rosita, and even Carl before he turned back to Rick, only to see Maggie standing there with her beautiful eyes swimming in tears. She opened her arms, and Daryl knew that he’d never be able to deny her anything, no matter how much it hurt.

Daryl would have liked to say that he was brave enough to meet her gaze directly, but it was all he could do to hug her to him, despising himself despite the clear forgiveness in every atom of Maggie’s body. It didn’t matter.

Daryl knew he’d never forgive himself that Glenn wasn’t here, sharing this moment with all of them.

He knew that as amazing as it felt to have his family around him again, his safety and theirs was more tenuous than it had ever been. The threat that Negan brought to their mostly peaceful existence had to be stopped. No. It had to be _eradicated_ so that the crazy fuck with the bat couldn’t put anyone he loved in danger ever again.

“Hey. You ready?” Maggie pulled away as Rick spoke, and Daryl felt bile rise in his throat at the clear trust that shone from Rick’s face.

Daryl nodded and followed everyone up to Hilltop House, knowing that he’d never, _ever_ , no matter how much he’d wanted to, really deserve that trust. Not after what he’d done.

Not until Negan was fucking _dead_.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW For this chapter:
> 
> * * *
> 
> Angst, torture, hints of sexual assault, severe depression, and suicide. Description of violence, heartbreak, and panic attacks. Non-consensual drug use- the drugs here are used as a method of control, and the user is completely unprepared for hallucinations, tweaking, etc. Description of addiction and a lack of self-worth and self-esteem. Hmm. I think that’s-- no wait. Daryl at one point assumes that Rick is dead, although he most definitely is not. If I forgot anything, please let me know in the comments.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Also, sorry. I didn't have a computer for awhile, so when I did voice texting for part of the story, my dumb phone changed Daryl to Darell, Darall, and I think Daryell? Idek. I've never typed those names in my life, but I've typed Daryl 123301 times. Go figure. Sorry. I think I got them all. 
> 
> **A/N** : Okay a bit of backstory here. This idea for Rick to choose was absolutely not mine. It was way back when Season 7 was about to come out, and even “nooo I don’t read spoiler” people like myself were trolling the internet, desperately searching for something and either TWDObsessive or MaroonCamaro came across this on reddit. https://www.reddit.com/r/thewalkingdead/comments/4chkgm/spoilers_idea_for_a_twist_on_the_big_reveal/d1iabs5/ Normally? Reddit terrifies me. On the rare occasions that I indulge, I tend to jump in and you don’t see me twitch for days on end. Reddit is a black hole of fan theories, fanon, bitchiness, and stupidity- so you have to take everything with a grain of salt. 
> 
> Whew. Did the three of us discuss it- the what if, what if, what if? Did I want to write that? You betcha. 
> 
> The problem was, at that point this monster story was waaay back in chapter 5 or 6, and I knew Negan was a long way off. But I plotted, and waited because oh yeah. I knew I was gonna do this, and I knew it was gonna hurt. 
> 
> So.. there you go. My take on that spoiler. A few “fix its” to fix that whole arc- because frankly the idea that Negan can break down Daryl Fucking Dixon in only two days is absolutely ridiculous. I played with it a little filled in a few holes that I thought would be interesting. Stretched it out a bit because I didn’t think the whole timeline of canon - 19 days- made that much sense. 
> 
> Poor Daryl. Stream of consciousness was fun to play with, although I think the grammar drove my beta crazy. :D Sorry, K. 
> 
> Oh, and if you really like this take on making Rick choose, you can read TWDObsessive’s On Our Knees, Helpless. http://archiveofourown.org/works/6720880/chapters/15365476. If you know any more fic that did this, let me know in the comments!


	27. Author's Note-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This "chapter" is just an author's note. Feel free to ignore it.

Okay, before you panic- no... I'm not abandoning this story. My love/hate relationship with this monster is much too close to my heart. I just wanted to update you on a few things having to do with this fic, and the Chapter Notes on AO3 only give you 5000 characters. Boy, 5000 characters seems like a lot- unless you're as much of a long-winded asshole as myself. So, for those who have just recently stumbled onto this fic, sorry to interrupt the flow of this story. I can imagine you're making a :/ face right now. But, I felt I owed it to the peeps who have been with me since word one.

**Sigh**

So.

#  **DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT A MAJOR SPOILER FOR THE END OF THE SEASON 8 MID-SEASON FINALE. JUST SCOOTCH ON DOWN TO THE *******S**

** **

#  **OKAY?? HERE. We... GO!!!**

 

**NO REALLY. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.**

 

Let me give you a teeny bit of background. The idea for this fic was launched wayyyy back in season 5 after of all things, a conversation with my mom about Daryl and Beth at Grady hospital. It was during Thanksgiving, and while we were making the food, she just kind of raged that it was bullshit that the show kept setting up things and not delivering.  Tiny bit more background: my mom was my first beta, way back when 16 year old 1994 me was writing Mary Sue Xfiles Fic (Mulder and Scully needed help from The One True Fan) scribbled in notebooks with glitter gel pens. She read most of my work, and had no problem telling me what was bullshit, and what was good. So, when we discussed The Walking Dead, it was some mad serious shit. My Mom had a thing for Daryl and Rick, and had done so ever since she saw the "Claimed" episode. 

 

> Mom: "You're my  _brother?"_ OH COME ON. HOW ARE THEY BROTHERS? BROTHERS DON'T EYE FUCK EACH OTHER THAT MUCH. DID YOU SEE HIS FACE AFTER RICK RIPPED OUT THAT GUY'S THROAT???
> 
> Me:  *flailing, nodding*

So yeah. She had a point. Two days later, she was in the hospital, and while I started this fic in December. She was pretty sick, and only read a draft of the first chapter, then passed away in February. I'm honestly not sharing this for pity points- but for you to understand that when I say that I am often at sea when it comes to this story- I legitimately feel like it's because my moms wasn't here to give me a thumbs up or thumbs down. Don't get me wrong. I am eternally grateful for the people who have helped me along the way- and no I can't name them all here because there are just that many people who have been so endlessly sweet- but in a way it's just not the same. Selfish? Maybe. But it's how I feel. 

The reason my mom loved sharing this with me so much is because she bought my my first TWD Comic. It was was waaaaay back in. Er. (I had to look it up, lol.) 2005. It was Issue 15, in the [Safety Behind Bars ](http://walkingdead.wikia.com/wiki/Issue_15)arc. She had no idea that I'd like it so much- she just saw The title page, thought, "huh. Zombies." and rolled with it.  My mom wouldn't be caught dead in a comic store (this was before I had a smartphone and you could just buy digital copies.) But. And, this is key, she  _loved me recapping the comic for her._ She really couldn't give a shit about how much I loved the art, or the starkness of the black and white panels, but she was in love with Rick, Carl, Andrea, Dale, Michonne (when she appeared- it wasn't until like issue 20 or so I think), Maggie, Hershel, and Glenn, just as much as I was.  But Carl? Oh. My. God. She loved that little bastard. We both did/do.  When Lori and Judith died in the comics? Oh my  _God._ When Carl encountered Lydia for the first time? Oh. My.  ** _GOD._** We love him. 

So, so much. 

Most of you that know me, or you could tell by the sudden drop off of the frequency of posting, that the way the TV show presented Negan was really a personal struggle.  Not at a all a slam on Jeffery Dean Morgan; but more that it was such a weird way they wrote him killing Glenn and Abraham. The dumpster. All of that.  I really disliked being manipulated for ratings. All that bullshit about them not owing us an ending? About making us wait til the s7 premiere? Hmmmmm. False. If you want to have "the best show on TV" then you need to do it without any of that "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain" bullshit. So, While the fic wasn't even close to the Negan arc yet- I knew I wanted to go in a different direction. But I thought, no, best not go too far off the beaten path, or I'll end up pissing people off.  

Then last week happened. 

Sigh. 

Carl. 

My first thought was that my mom would be spinning like a goddamn top right about now. I legitimately felt like someone I'd known forever had been suddenly killed. If that's what TPTB was going for, then kudos. They got it. But then... I started to get mad. Then frustrated. Then disgusted. 

Believe me; I know how ridiculous it is to be this invested in a fictional character- and one yet that wasn't considered by most to be a "Main" character on the show.  I've said to anyone that will listen (and some that are too polite not to) that Carl is the most important character in the comic; that in many ways what we see and know about the characters is his lens for his coming of age story. He fucks up, he makes amends, he suffers tragedy, he comes out the other side (somehow). The show version of Carl- played obviously and amazingly by Chandler Riggs- is  phenomenal. I thought he got that aspect of Carl's character. He did teenage angst + fucking up + trying to be able to live with yourself during the ZA extremely well.  I have a sneaking suspicion that TPTB not going to pull a Glenn and have Carl roll up with a save vs Dumpster Immunity +5 (and, to be honest if they did that and he showed up immune after 8 seasons of never even hinting that there was any sort of immunity I'd be so fucking pissed off that you wouldn't want to know me.) But.  **BUT**. Making us wait for the inevitable end; once  _again_ playing with bullshit "writing" tactics to keep viewing numbers up? That's not cool.  In fact, I think that's a pretty shitty way to treat people who have been with this show for eight years. Granted, a lot of this is absolutely from my favorite character being killed off (and yes, I know the reasons why Riggs wanted to move on with his life. I'm thrilled for him, really!) but.. I just can't get past that. I've mentioned the shitty continuity. I've mentioned the shitty story telling. Hell, use all of season 7 as my proof for that.  _Harumph_.  My opinion? Killing off Carl was a total deal breaker.  

 

 

But you know what they say about opinions, right? :) 

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

#  **************************************************

**Okay, end of spoilers!**

 

 

So, after all that- here's the reason I made this silly self-indulgent and verbose author's note.

When I write, I use an outline. Especially for a fic that's as complicated as this one- I have to sort of map it out so I don't forget anything. I had a good 15,000 words written out of both the next chapter and a scene of the end. (I write out of order. It's part of the reason it's taken me so goddamn long- well, that and I write slower than a constipated snail.)  And, no matter what, no matter how many arcs I had planned or fix-it ideas I had (I've been dreading writing both Tara's betrayal of Oceanside (Siddiq didn't do anything like that when he told Rick about it in the comics!), the absolute bullshit that is Eugene turning sides, the  **MOTHERFUCKING TRASH ROMULANS** , I just couldn't make everything work. Maybe that means I'm a shitty storyteller! But the use of most of those three things seem so painfully out of character that I honestly did (and do) struggle with being able to fix all of it.  Last chapter, I mentioned that it seemed asinine that they'd "break" Daryl in what was roughly 18 hours. Daryl Dixon? The same Daryl Dixon who has been through hell and back? Oh come on. Me? Sure. You stick me in a hole with that fucking song and I'd do anything you damn near wanted to get out. I'm a total wuss. But  _DARYL?_ I went back and forth and back and forth with my friend Jlm on how to fix this. Literally- how do I rewrite what is essentially the back half of an entire season in a way that made sense for the character development that they'd had from season 1? 

So fast forward to earlier today while I was making Christmas candy, I had one of those lightbulb moments. No shit. It was like a literal  _click_ of how to fix this. It's so obvious that I'm filled with shame that I didn't just do it before. 

Use the comic's version of All Out War as my 'fix it'.

Now, of course, it won't work perfectly. And there are one or two show things that I'll probably keep in here. But, overall... that's my plan and why (after way too many words) I wanted to tell you what was happening. But wait!  What if you don't want Comic spoilers?  Wee-ell, we're on issue 174- and the comic events are so far behind the show it's ridiculous. So um. Sorry. You've already gotten comic spoilers by watching the show. Hopefully this won't make you stop reading this wordmonster, but I understand if this is a deal breaker. While I consider the TV show an AU version of the comics, I understand that not everyone does. All I can say is that I promise this fic will finish out all the Rickyl moments that I've had sketched out for almost a year now. My hope is just to trim off some of the bullshit of what they fed us, and be able to tighten up some gaping, grotesque story holes left by the TV show. 

 

I hope. :) 

 

I do plan on releasing some of the words I deleted as a 'DVD extra' type thing, if you're interested. There will still also be 4 chapters, although now I'm thinking I'll need an epilogue to shine stuff up. Not sure on that though. 

 

Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you can understand where I'm coming from; and why this particular fic is so important to me. I hope I haven't irked you too much by writing this, but as I said, it wouldn't fit in the Notes sections. if you'd like to discuss anything in the comments, I'm game, but  **anyone reading the comments might come across major, HUGE, HONKING spoilers for season 8 Mid season Finale** , so avoid if you're not caught up.

<3

~Lost

 

 

 


	28. I Will Wait (I will wait) For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E gad. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for all of the support and love people have given so far for this wordmonster! **AND** for your patience! I did indeed have to do some really severe rewrites to my outline to kind of fix what I could fix from the events [ I mentioned in my author's note. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569288/chapters/29848449) And, shit. We're back at a ? number of chapters. I'm guessing 5 more, but that could change. I just don't know. 
> 
> Anyhoo. Thanks as always to Jen, for all of the reasons (seriously you have no idea how much I've angsted over this fic to her... she has the patience of a saint!) and to my writing group:Lotr58, Justley, Tweedo, and Maroon for being there to help when my confidence was shook ~and my heart was broken~. 
> 
> This chapter is unbetad only because my beta **FoxyK** is busy and I felt guilty about dumping 8,000 words on her like that. If you see a typo or something, please don't hesitate to let me know!  
>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER CAN BE FOUND IN THE END NOTES! ******

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve had a “real” chapter. You might need to reread to remember what’s going on. Start from the[ beginning ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569288?view_full_work=true) or the [ last chapter ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569288/chapters/28559916).

 

* * *

“Sasha! Enid!”

Even behind the wooden fence, hearing Maggie’s drawl made Rick smile a bit.  But just a bit.

He shut his eyes in thankfulness pausing for just a second. They’d lost so much. Lost so many. Glenn. Abraham.  

( _Dar-)_

Long habit had Rick squelching the thought before it fully formed, refusing to even think the word. It just wasn’t something he could do right now.  Not after losing anything everything else.

The Hilltop lookout shouted a signal, and Rick stopped in front of the huge, wooden gates, staring blindly ahead.  Rick was almost viscerally aware of his people around him; Carl on his left, with Michonne next to him, with Rosita, and Tara bringing up the rear a few steps behind the three of them.   

Even they were heart-heavy.

Carl. . . Carl had gone into the monster’s den. He’d gone there, tried to step up, and had undergone god knew what before Negan had come back to Alexandria with him.  Rick knew that he blamed himself for Olivia, but his boy had clammed up, refusing to talk to anyone about any of it.

Rosita might have been tough on the outside, but having Spencer gutted right in front of her had taken its toll. The cut on her face looked angry and red, but her eyes looked lost. The haunted look that had never quite left her gaze after Abraham’s death had increased. The only thing that she had right now was the hope that Eugene was okay, and Rick really, truly hoped that he was. It had been a mix of ballsiness and happenstance that had Eugene rescued almost before he was taken, but Rick was sure as hell glad for the outcome.

Michonne’s plan of having Eugene hide out at Hilltop was a good one. After the woods and his claims that he could make bullets, Michonne had made decisions when Rick was too broken up over losing Daryl and the rest of their people. Funnily enough, for such a petite person, she still loomed large in Rick’s mind. Even now, she didn’t look the slightest bit exhausted, and Rick knew that to be a lie. She was just too adept at hiding it.

Even Tara’s endless optimism had cracked. Where before she’d been like an energetic kid, ready with a half-grin or a fist bump at the most bizarre but necessary times, now she trudged up the hill to Hilltop on autopilot, staring at the ground.  The loss of her girlfriend had been horrible, and Rick knew that she’d need time to heal- or something to do- before all that energy she had exploded into bad choices or even worse mistakes.

Rick sighed. The solid, comforting wooden doors of Hilltop slowly creaked open, and he walked through, hurrying his step a little as Maggie stood there, smiling tremulously through her tears. Rick felt his own throat tighten as he scooped up her tiny, fragile-seeming body in his arms, hugging her just as tightly as she was hugging him.

He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he deserved to be punched, or for her to come at him with teeth and nails. . . something for Maggie to show her pain at what she’d endured. She’d just looked so sick in the back of that camper, and so broken on her knees after they’d taken Glenn’s body away.  

“Oh, Rick. . .” Maggie clung to him for only a few heartbeats before pulling back and ducking her head against her shoulder, wiping the tears from her face.

“You’re okay?”

“I am. I’m _okay_ **,** Rick. The baby’s okay. All of us, we’re. . .”

“You were right.” It seemed important for him to acknowledge that, right off. “You were _right_ , Maggie. From the start. You told us to get ready to fight. I didn’t listen. . . and I couldn’t. . .” _was too weak. Too stupid. To cocky._ “But I can, now.”

Rick couldn’t have said what made him look up. A crunch of a stick under a boot maybe. Rick froze for a moment, remembering Lori looking down at him in the white gown, the woebegone look on her beautiful face, and the sweetly cloying smell of her honeysuckle perfume floating around him.

She had been so _real._  Everything had. He’d almost choked on the visceral memory of the remembered scent.

Was that. Was that really. . . Daryl?

Rick heard Michonne or Maggie suck in a shocked breath, and he took the first step forward, then another and another. He saw the tears in Daryl’s eyes, and Rick could feel his hands shaking as he watched Daryl duck his head, not able to meet his eyes as Rick cupped the back of his neck, pulling him into his arms.

 _“Daryl,”_ Rick whispered it, still unsure that he wasn’t hallucinating. He heard Daryl’s trembling gasp and Daryl’s mouth was wet against Rick’s collarbone, but he couldn’t possibly give a fuck at the wet feel.

Daryl was warm and solid against him. Rick knew he was hugging too tightly, but he couldn’t make himself stop.  He could feel one of Daryl’s hand clutching his shoulders, and one clutching his hip, and Rick was so fucking _grateful_.

Daryl pulled away for a moment, face an absolute wreck of emotion.  Rick had been pretty sure that he was really here in this moment, but when his Colt materialized out of almost nowhere, Rick could only clutch Daryl’s forearm, still shocked. He looked up, his own gaze meeting Daryl’s, searching for something that would tell him definitively that this wasn’t all in his head.

Cuz this sort of shit? This shit didn’t happen to him. He didn’t get the happy ending, like this was some kind of movie or something. The plucky hero didn’t get his man here. There was no plucky hero- just Rick, broken and pathetically trying to keep his shit together.

He sucked in a shocked breath, leaned forward, and cupped Daryl’s jaw slowly enough to give him time to run away or punch him or whatever he wanted to do, then met Daryl’s trembling lips with his own.

The kiss was real.

The kiss was _real._

With the wet slickslide of their mouths, time jumped forward, leaving Rick in the very solid _here_ and _now._  The kiss was an apology, was him begging for forgiveness. It was the end of heartbreak and the shaky beginnings of healing.

“Well, God _damn_.” Michonne snorted. “I’d say that you should go get a room, but I’m afraid you’d have to sell tickets to the show.”

Rick couldn’t quite smile. He loved Michonne for breaking the intensity of the moment, but it was still a little too raw for him to laugh. Daryl took a step back and sniffed with a ghost of a smile. Rick had to talk himself into stepping back, terrified that Daryl would disappear again if he moved too far away.

  
“Oh sweet dancing _fuck_ ; I’m gonna need so much therapy.” Carl’s groan made Rick smile at last, and he turned to swat at the back of the little shitkicker’s head, noting that Maggie had moved forward and hugged Daryl firmly, not allowing him to hide from her.

Carl snorted and danced back,finger combing his hair with exaggerated care, before shoving at Rick’s shoulder.

“Hey. You ready?” Maggie pulled away, eyes a little damp. “We have a lot to discuss.”

“I don’t know. I could go for more live dude-on-dude action, honestly.” Tara waggled her eyebrows and Rick felt his cheeks go nuclear with his blush. “I feel like a dumbass for not knowing that was going on.”

Michonne snorted and rolled her eyes. Rick noticed that she, Carl and Jesus wouldn’t meet his eyes, while Sasha, Rosita and  Maggie looked just as baffled. He shrugged with one shoulder and cleared his throat, trying to get some handle on the pure insanity of the last few minutes.

“Maggie’s right. Night’s comin’ on, and we need to settle in.”

“You sure it’s okay for me to-- be here?” Daryl’s voice hitched, obviously unsure.

Surprisingly, Jesus spoke up. He’d hung back for a bit, and as Rick had come to realize, only put himself forward when he had something to contribute.  For such an auspicious start, Jesus had been strong, and very clearly on their side when they needed him to be. “Maggie wouldn’t let me be til I agreed to go to the Sanctuary to find you. She said it was time to stop fuckin’ around.” He smiled. “Daryl, there’s not anyone here who doesn’t want you here. And don’t you forget it.”

Daryl stared down at his boots.

“I’m not gonna suck your face off though. Rick might kick my ass.” Jesus half-grinned, and Rick found himself swallowing a huge lump in his throat at the shy grin that provoked from Daryl in response to Jesus’ teasing.

The rest of them laughed, and followed Maggie not to the big house where Gregory lived, but to one of the trailers set up against the wall.  It was set away from the main hubbub of the Hilltop, and Maggie opened the door to a flustered Enid. She’d obviously just cleaned up, because her long hair was piled on top of her head , and her shirt still stuck to her in places.

“Err. . . hi.” Enid’s gaze flitted over all of them, but settled obviously on Carl. Rick noted how his boy’s ears went bright red at the attention, but managed to keep a straight face. They might tease the hell out of him when they had him alone, but no one was cruel enough to say anything in front of everyone.  Given the amount of eye contact between the two teenagers, Rick made a mental note to talk to Carl about birth control once things settled down here. If things were moving along at all to their natural and hormone-fueled conclusion, god knew what the two kids had picked up.

“Hey Enid. You mind getting Eugene for me? We’re gonna have a bit of a meeting, and he should be here for this.” Maggie’s face was kind, but her eyes were wicked as she noticed the exchange between Enid and Carl.

Carl’s hasty “Oh, uh. I can walk with you!” resulted in a lot of sudden drops in eye contact between the adults, and one snort of amusement that had been hastily turned into a cough.

Rick and Tara stepped aside, and Carl and Enid walked through, letting the thin trailer door slam shut behind them.

“Okay so we should make ourselves comfortable. There’s a lot to do.” Maggie’s tone booked no argument and Rick found himself squeezing into the tiny living room with the rest of his people. Tara, Michonne and Rosita sat on the couch, with Sasha balancing on one couch arm. Jesus sat at the table, with Maggie and Rosita. Daryl didn’t sit, but instead slouched against the wall of the trailer.

The very obvious absences of Glenn and Abraham seemed vast and impossible to fill.

Rick waited for a bit, then  cleared his throat. Before he could speak, the door banged open, and Carl and Eugene busted through, with Enid following at a much more sedate pace.

To just about everyone’s jaw-dropping surprise, Eugene made a beeline for Rosita, wrapping his arms around her in a completely uncharacteristic hug.  Rosita looked gobsmacked for a moment, before gingerly hugging him back, eyes tearing up.

“Guess I missed more’n a few things, huh?” Daryl’s voice caused Eugene to whirl around, shocked, his bulk almost swinging Rosita out of her chair. She laughed a little and distangled herself, sitting back down.

“I was not aware that you had returned.” Eugene held out his arms stiffly to Daryl, angling for the most awkward hug in the history of what was left of the world, a tiny smirk on his face. “Allow me to show you---”

“No, no. no.” Daryl’s hasty response made Rick smile. In fact, I think. . . I think I’m gonna go up on the roof. Keep a look-out for people who ain’t us.” The smile fell from Rick’s face like water down a drain. He’d been kind of going along with Maggie’s flow, almost in shock. Now he noticed the nervous sweat on Daryl’s temples, and the unsettled, skittish look in his eyes.

Daryl was scared.

Before Rick could say anything, Daryl darted outside. Rick started to go after him, but Jesus stopped him with a few fingers on his forearm, halting his movement. Any goodwill Rick had felt towards Jesus prior to this melted away in a hot surge of jealousy. Jesus rolled his eyes and removed his hand at whatever look had been on Rick’s face. They all heard the thump of Daryl using something to climb up on the roof, and his clunky footsteps as he moved towards the trap door in the ceiling.  He flung it open and they heard him settle himself. “I’m pretty sure I c’n hear everything from up here.”

They all looked at Rick, who blinked a few times, stymied. He cleared his throat. “Well, we wanted to catch everyone up on what’s been going on since-- well, since we were last together. To tell the truth, there’s been so much that I’m not at all where to start.”

“Negan’s a damn asshole!” Daryl hollered down through the attic trap door, and they all laughed a little too loudly.

“Negan, is indeed an asshole. I imagine that my story will take the shortest amount of time, so without any further dramatic exposition, allow me to elucidate.”

“Well, in _that_ case, let me get comfortable. Think we’re gonna be here awhile.” Enid flipped her hair, voice heavy with sarcasm as she sat cross-legged on the floor near the dining room table with Eugene, Rosita, Jesus, and Maggie.

Rick managed to hide a smile as he sat down near her, leaning against the wall. He winced when his kneecaps popped, sounding like firecrackers, and wiggled his toes in his boots as he stretched out his feet.

“Mind that mouth, girlie. Recent acts of kick-ass chick bravery aside-”

Enid snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I saved your ass, with my kickass bravery or whatever. You don’t get to call me a chick.” Her eyebrows narrowed. “ _Or_ girlie.”

Eugene shut his mouth, tilted his head to the side, and nodded. “Fair enough, fair Enid, Champion of the Meek and Less Powerful. Well. Y’all know what happened after. . . after Oliva and Spencer were murdered in front of Rick’s house. I cannot affirm that I am proud of it. All the cryin’ and whatnot. I wish I could say that it was an act to get on Negan’s good side, but I was shit-suckingly terrified.” Eugene frowned down at the scuffed formica table. “When they rolled out, I was with that Arat woman, and two gentleman whose names I didn’t catch. Suppose they thought that I wasn’t gonna be much of any sort of trouble, and they were right.” Eugene forced himself to make eye contact with everyone in the room. “I. I’m ashamed to say that I. I just about gave over to the Saviors. Drank the kool-aid. Embraced the madness hook, line, and sinker. Even with.” He stopped, and the rest of the people in the room gave him the silence he needed to continue. Rick didn’t know if they were pissed, or just reliving the moments after Rosita shot Lucille, but you could have heard a pin drop.

“Even with what those m-m-monsters did to my friend.”

Towards the end of his speech, Eugene’s voice had grown lower in volume, with his entire body sort of curling in on himself with shame. “Had a half-assed plan to somehow beat them at their own game, but knew that I’d never have the stones to carry it out.” He paused a moment, and Enid reached out to touch his ankle, her crooked smile up at him bright, for all that it was brief.  Obviously taking strength in her support, Eugene continued. “So this one- she comes out of nowhere like a winged Valkyrie. ‘Course I don’t think Valkyrie chose an unhitched semi as their steed of choice, but when she crashed it into the little sedan they had me in, it sent us spinnin’ like a like girl-du-jour at the tear-inducing dance scene of a John Hughes movie.” Eugene straightened up. For all that he was absolutely ridiculous, he was also completely sincere with the little flourished bow he gave her.  “So.. thank you. My Lady.”

Enid turned quite charmingly pink, and waved at him like the Queen, laughing off his sincerity. “Was all in a day’s work. You can thank Carl for teaching me how to drive. And by drive? I mean crash.”

They all laughed at Carl’s injured “Hey!”

“How’d you know where to hit the car so it had that perfect velocity? We spun at the perfect speed; Arat’s face hit that airbag, a song sweeter than even the melody of the great Elvis Aaron Presley's contribution to RCA Victor.”

“Err. Uh. My plan was to just t-bone the car, and hope that you made it out okay. Hitting the engine was. . . um. Not exactly planned.”

Eugene brushed that off, clearly dismissing that as unimportant. “Then, this vision of bravery hopped out of the semi with her Kolibri just as bold as brass, held the two gentlemen at gunpoint and told me to “get the hell in the truck, Eugene!” He shrugged. “So I got the hell in the truck. Ten minutes later, we arrived at the vehicle she had so cleverly stashed, and were on our way to the Hilltop.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve been laying low here ever since. Managed to work out a few things in my downtime.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Eugene’s been here about eight hours. He’s set up thirteen solar arrays, figured out how to give us an ice house without any electricity, has new plans for our long-term food storage, and in his _spare_ time sketched out a plan for steam power when the solar relays go on the fritz again- the damn walkers keep tripping over the battery things.”

“That sounds pretty badass,” Rosita spoke for the first time, turning to look a flustered Eugene full in the face. “I’m sorry, Eugene. You were. . . right. I was mad, and _stupid_ , and I put you in danger.”

“I’d like to know what happened to Daryl.” Michonne’s soft voice carried well enough up to where Daryl sat. Rick couldn’t see his face, but given that Daryl had never been one to talk much about himself, and especially given the way he’d ran out of here like his ass was on fire, Rick knew that Daryl would probably be less than forthcoming on the details of his time in the Sanctuary.

He was still pissed that Jesus seemed to know more about the situation-- stuff that Rick knew was information that should be his, goddamnit, but managed to keep most of that off of his face.

“Not much’ta say. They kept me in a room, locked. Fed me shit, or nothing. Beat me pretty regularly. I got out.” Daryl shrugged, shifting his weight heavily on the tin roof. “Jesus found me and helped me get here.”

The silence was very loud as all of them attempted to read between the lines. When Daryl had been taken, Rick had been terrified of what the Saviors might do to him. Beatings, torture, rape. . . anything was possible with those sick savages. Knowing that Daryl was obviously not saying everything made Rick swallow hard, fear coursing through blood like ice.

“And we’re glad you’re back. Now a few things- looks like there’s some sleeping arrangements to be worked out with everyone here. We have plenty of space, and plenty of food, so I’m gonna take a quick break and get all that sorted out.” Maggie had the air of the family matriarch shooing her family to the dinner table at Thanksgiving, and Rick smiled a little, filled with affection for her.

She left quickly, Enid, Jesus, and Sasha following.

Rick and his people made idle chit-chat, no one particularly wanting to continue filling anyone in until they were back.

When they arrived, Jesus holding a  crock pot, Maggie holding something that smelled amazingly like cornbread, and Enid and Sasha sharing the weight of what looked like a picnic basket, Rick felt his mouth water.

“Is that. . . stew?”

“It is. One of the lambs tripped over something and broke its leg, and they decided to have lambchops before I could fix it.” Maggie sounded frustrated, clearly calculating the husbandry value of her remaining livestock. “We had some veggies, and well. Dig in.”

She laughed when everyone surged forward, almost in unison.  Even Daryl dropped down through the skylight at the smells wafting up. For several minutes there was just the _clank_ of spoons against bowls, and the occasional yummy noise.  Rick caught Maggie’s gaze for a minute, and his heart broke at the sad little smile she returned.  The last time they’d all been together like this, it had been right after Carl had been shot. Glenn had spent the night holding Maggie’s hand, unwilling to let her go even for a second. Maggie had kissed Glenn’s knuckles at odd intervals, so in love that it made all of them feel a little more like their feet was on solid ground just being in the same room with them.

“Where’s Carol?”

Daryl’s question made Rick wince. Daryl’s blue eyes were steadfast as he met Rick’s gaze, awaiting his answer.

“Actually, we’re gonna see to her in the next few days. She was hurt, after she left. Wait- did you know about that?”

Daryl shook his head _no_ , and Rick frowned deeply, setting down his bowl. “She left a note- that she couldn’t be around us anymore. No one blamed her. We tried to respect her wishes; you know that she was in a bad place mentally after her ‘n’ Morgan got into it after the Wolves attacked.”

Enid offered him some more stew, and Rick idly noticed that all the adults waited until Enid and Carl had eaten their second bowl before helping themselves to extras. The broth was flavored with something that made him remember cold winter evenings around a fire when the steamy Georgia weather got to a bone chillingly-cold temperature. Rosemary maybe. Basil? Rick shrugged inwardly. Hell, it could have been weed for all he knew.

Daryl shifted, bringing Rick’s attention back to him. “She is holed up in a cabin not too far from here, outside of another community called The Kingdom. We checked on her, but didn’t want to push ourselves on her if she wasn’t ready.”

“What’cha mean, _hurt_?”  Daryl darted short looks at Rick from beneath his bangs, not meeting his eyes for any length of time.

“She was shot by some of Negan’s men.”

At the name of ‘Negan’, Daryl _flinched_ , the spoon clattering into the bowl with a clank. No one said anything, trying to be tactful, but it was a small space and there were only so many places for people to look to avoid eye-contact.

Rick was overwhelmed for a moment with a shaky, almost sickly gratitude that Daryl was actually here with them. It seemed impossible. It seemed _incredible._ Rick’s throat tightened and he had to look down for a moment.

“I think- and forgive me if this is out of place- but I think that we should have everyone present and accounted for before we do any kind of war council.” Sasha’s voice was low as she spoke, breaking the moment. “Carl should be there. And Morgan. Aaron and Eric. And even Gabriel, maybe.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Everyone should have their input.”

“True- we should get King Ezekiel involved too.”

Rick watched as Carl mouthed “King?” to Enid. “Maybe reach out to him again now that Daryl’s back. Morgan’s with him and Carl in the Kingdom- but once he’s updated on the most recent events, he’s gotta understand that he can’t just hide from all of this.” Jesus looked frustrated for a moment. “It’s only a matter of time before they’re drawn into this. Better if he controls it, instead of being consumed by it.”

“Good idea,” Maggie nodded. “As much as I don’t like the idea of all of us being in the same place for too long- Sasha’s right. Best to table this ‘til tomorrow.  Let’s see. A few of us can bunk here. There’s probably two- no, three spaces in the big house. Enid can come in with me, if you want.” She bent and started picking up the bowls people had strewn about the place. “Why don’t you two come help me clean up, and I’ll let everyone figure out where you’re gonna sleep.”

Rick scooped up the last few bites of the thick, flavorful stew. “Probably send envoys on out tomorrow- see if we can get ‘em to see our way of things.” He wiped his mouth. “I’m gonna need input from all of you. Maggie’s right- this ain’t something I can just take on my own. _Negan_ ain’t something I can take on my own. When I get cocky. . . well.” Rick flicked his gaze to Daryl, who was staring hard at his shoes, still twitchy with nerves. “Well, shit don’t go right.”

Everyone finished up eating and started to split off to find a place to sleep. Rick hadn’t wanted to be obvious about needing to wait for Daryl, but he supposed he wasn’t fooling anyone, when Maggie just shook her head, put half of the dishes in his hands and the other half in Daryl’s, and pushed them towards what looked like a community water area. Rick started to walk, but Daryl’s voice made him automatically slow his steps, so that they were walking side-by-side.

“Daryl. Wait up.”

Rick slowed his steps when Daryl did. It was Jesus.

“You gonna bunk with me again?”

Rick gripped the stack of bowls a little more tightly than he needed to, told himself he was being an idiot, and tried to stop.

“Naw. I’ll find somewhere.”

“Just making sure.” Jesus grinned. “Might see if I can find  Branden. Share a pillow. Conserve some body heat.”

Daryl snorted.  “You do that. . . but, thanks, man.”

“Night, Rick.”

Rick nodded and the two of them resumed walking. The Hilltop community was huge, It had been well-thought out, from defense to where the latrines were, and Rick wondered if Maggie squared with Gregory, or if that was something else they needed to take care of. Rick hadn’t seen the squirrely little man around, come to think of it. But, they hadn’t exactly been sightseeing while they were here.

The two men were quiet as they wiped out the dishes, then washed them in a shallow tub of water, using as little water as they could. Dishes weren’t really all that difficult- no one left food on their plate anymore. Rick watched the muscles in Daryl’s arms as Daryl stacked them up. He wanted to reach out and touch them, to prove to himself that Daryl was really here, by his side, washing dishes of all things. Simple domesticity.

“I got a room. We could share a pillow.”  Daryl looked at Rick from under the shade of his bangs.

“Conserve some body heat?” Rick smirked a little, and Daryl nodded. Daryl turned to the big house and began trudging up the long driveway. Rick caught Carl and Enid talking on a picnic bench, Eugene tinkering with something besides them, obviously listening to whatever the two teenagers were saying. He smiled inwardly, balefully ignoring the fact that he was going up to Daryl’s room. Rick felt gauche; awkward, like everyone knew what was about to happen.

He wanted to snarl at the way Jesus’s mouth tightened, but the other man purposefully turned to engage Braden in conversation, and Rick was content enough to ignore it.

But he didn’t much like it. That was the second- no, _third-_ time Jesus had made some kind of judgement about Daryl- or maybe about _Rick_ and Daryl that he wasn’t privy to, and it was really starting to piss Rick right the fuck off.

He ignored the feeling of jealousy and followed Daryl up the long staircase of the old house.

Daryl’s room was at the very back of the hall, past a library, and what looked like a an old bathroom. It had been stripped of anything useful, but the huge double bed looked mighty inviting. The full meal had made Rick a little sleepy. He’d assumed that Daryl had invited him up to his room for some privacy- to talk. Catch up on everything that had happened while Daryl had been. . . gone. Before Rick had finished stretching, Daryl had herded him up against the wall, and had moved in for a kiss.

The kiss earlier at the gate had been relief, and shock. It had been brief, and uncertain, and so, so, sweet.  

This one, was not.

Rick’s head hit the wall with a thud and Daryl’s mouth was on him, hard and open and wanting. Rick kissed back, reminded of their first kiss in the rain, so long ago. Back then, Rick had crowded Daryl up against the wall, holding his hands so that Rick could kiss him. This time, Daryl used his strength to hold both of Rick’s wrists against the wall. Rick wasn’t used to this- to feeling helpless. Daryl kissed him, hard, licking into his mouth when Rick gasped for air until he was dizzy from lack of oxygen.

He tried to speak, to slow things down a little, but Daryl was insistent enough that Rick could barely keep up with him. Daryl moved his mouth to Rick’s neck, and bit, and Rick arched further into Daryl’s body. Daryl moved so that his thigh was between Rick’s, the denim-encased muscle rubbing deliciously against the other man’s cock, and Rick shuddered. Every time Rick tried to touch him, Daryl tightened his grip, or shifted his stance, and Rick couldn’t deny that he liked it- liked the way Daryl was driving this train. He could feel Daryl, hot and hard against his stomach, and with as much as he wanted to drag his hands over Daryl’s biceps, or stroke his chest, he also didn’t want Daryl to stop rubbing against him, pulling Rick’s t-shirt off so that their bare chests touched.

“Hey. . .” Rick gasped, trying to put on the brakes a little, half-afraid he’d shoot in his jeans like a kid if Daryl didn’t stop pressing _oh. Ohh, there_.

Daryl made a low sound in his throat and shoved his hand down Rick’s jeans. Rick gasped, and grabbed Daryl’s wrist, shocked. Not that Daryl would do something so bold, but that it had been so rough about it. Rick wasn’t particularly worried about being treated like a fragile flower, but he was a little put off by the desperation and. . . almost, _anger_ in Daryl’s movements.

Daryl met his eyes with an unrecognizable look on his face that Rick was jolted completely out of the moment.  He looked _horrified_ , absolutely disgusted with himself,  almost like he’d puke.

“Sh-shit. I didn’t. I mean, I wasn’t tryin’--” Daryl jerked his hand away from Rick’s wrist and took a step back. His face worked, almost spasmed. Daryl looked like he was just barely hanging on to an emotion that Rick didn’t know how to name.  He turned away and stumbled, and Rick knew if he hit the door, he’d never catch up to him.

Rick managed to grab Daryl’s forearm, tugging insistently enough that Daryl couldn’t escape and run for the hills. “Wait, man. Just a sec. Take a breath.”

“I wouldn’t. I would _never_.”

“Stick your hands down my pants? That’d be a damn shame.” Rick frowned; the joke didn’t even seem to register. “Hey. Daryl.” Rick took a step forward. Daryl was bone, pale, and shaking.

Rick wrinkled his brow, thinking, confused, then steered him towards the end of the bed. Daryl collapsed, still shaking.  Rick kneeled down, keeping the palms of his hands on Daryl’s thighs. Daryl curled forward, hanging his head and grasping his hands between his slightly spread legs.  Rick rubbed his knees and a little bit higher, attempting to get Daryl to focus on him. Daryl’s breath was hitching so heavily that Rick was afraid the other man was going to pass out.

Rick leaned forward, biting his lip. He didn’t know what to do. Something was wrong, something Rick didn’t know how to fix. He started to get up and maybe find Michonne or someone, but remembered that Daryl was apologizing for something, remembered the look on his face. . .

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

All at once, he realized what Daryl had been thinking. He’d said he wasn’t ‘trying’, and that ‘he would never’, and had looked so horrified after Rick had stopped him, that..

Oh, _god._

Rick rocked back on his heels as though he’d been slapped. He’d thought about it before, in passing, but furtively, in the way one did when they knew the something could be too horrible to really contemplate. What if Daryl had been not only physically abused, but mentally and sexually abused as well?  Rick thought briefly of Carl, and the bandit who’d tried to rape his boy. He’d gutted the motherfucker, and not lost any sleep over it. But Michonne had stayed with Carl in that truck. She’d held him while he cried and shook. Rick had been a little overwhelmed by what he’d done, had sworn that he could still taste the hot, thick blood from Joe’s  throat, and had sat there with Daryl beside of him for most of the night while Carl’s muffled sobs could be heard from the car.

Rick had been too lost in his own goddamn head to do a bit of good.

He swallowed.

“Daryl?” Rick leaned forward and brought Daryl’s trembling hands up to his mouth, then brushed his lips over the rough skin of his knuckles. Daryl’s hands looked brittle, the skin stretched thinly over long bones. He kissed them again, and again, until Daryl seemed to realize that Rick was there with him. When it registered, Daryl’s shoulders slumped, then snapped rigid, as though Rick had called him to attention. Before he could go back into the shocked state he’d just come out of, Rick tugged Daryl’s arms, not caring that his foot was asleep by now, or that the cracked sole of his boot was pinching the shit out of his little toe.  Daryl followed blindly, and Rick wrapped his arms around him, gingerly, afraid it might spook him. The bulk of Daryl’s body seemed fragile, and Rick was struck by just how much weight he’d lost.

“Hey now. You didn’t do anything to me that you’re thinkin’ right now, okay? You can kiss me and hold me like that any time you want to. I wasn’t saying _stop_ , I was saying _slow down_ , alright? It’s fine. _We’re_ fine.”

Rick brought his hands up from Daryl’s, to Daryl’s forearms, moving them up and down briskly, trying to warm up the cool skin .Daryl had lost muscle mass in addition to everything else, and the physical proof of how Daryl had suffered made Rick dully furious.He brought his hands up and down again, trying to hold onto the man in his arms. Daryl was trembling so much that it felt like he would shatter apart. Rick would have thought that Daryl didn’t want him to hold him like this, except for the way that he burrowed into the spot where Rick’s neck and collarbone met, hiding his face.

Rick had brought his hands up and down, and up and down over Daryl’s forearm and elbow again before he realized exactly what it was that he was feeling. It was like reading words for years, and not knowing how to pronounce them; familiarity that was not perfectly familiar. He’d seen marks like this back in the old days. He’d seen them on drunks and junkies, homeless and vagrants who spent a night or two in jail during the winter as a preference to dealing with the elements.  Even though, Rick had to pull away to be sure.

Track marks.

Rick would have thought them regular needle marks from an IV or some other kind of medical procedure, except for the fat that they were bruised and bloody from how many times Daryl had scratched around them, creating welts that looked painful and raw. Rick’s training for subduing addicts came back to him, fuzzily.

His heart seized in his chest. Daryl froze against him. He had to have felt where Rick had stopped touching him, the palms of his hands just barely ghosting over the worst of the marks on the soft skin inside of Daryl’s elbow.  Daryl jerked away, staring at Rick with wide, shame-filled eyes.

“Wha--.” Rick’s throat tightened too much for him to speak. He forced out the words through a throat that felt lined in sandpaper.  “What did those fuckers _do_ to you?”

To Rick’s utter shock, Daryl inhaled on a sob, and broke down right there. Baffled, stunned that Daryl Dixon was actually _crying_ , Rick froze for a second before enveloping Daryl’s shoulders and back in a hug.

Rick had never seen Daryl cry like this before. Maybe for Merle. Or Beth. He tried to think back, and couldn’t come up with anything. This was. . . raw. Daryl just cried and shook, clutching Rick more and more tightly, hardly even seeming to notice when Rick shifted so that his back was at the foot of the bed. Daryl hid his face, leaving both tears and snot on Rick’s neck and shirt, breaking down utterly, sobbing like he couldn’t breathe for all the pain he held inside.

Rick hung on for dear life.

Eventually though, Daryl was too exhausted to continue crying. It took twenty minutes, maybe fifteen before the sobs tapered down to gasps, then down to the occasional shudder against Rick’s chest.

“Fuck,” Daryl whispered, after some time, voice utterly wrecked.

Rick had about a thousand questions, but he knew pushing Daryl to answer any of them would be a huge mistake. Instead, he kissed Daryl’s temple, and shifted. “You sit here. I’ll be right back.” Rick’s whisper seemed jarringly loud in the silent room after the echoes of Daryl’s outburst.

It took him two tries to get up- his fuckin’ leg was tingling like a _bitch-_ but he managed to go to the connected bathroom. They kept water in a pitcher for face and hand watching, and a pitcher of unboiled water for flushing the toilet, and Rick saw a few stacks of towels in a hutch opposite the sink. He drenched two of the smaller ones, and draped the other over his shoulder before making his way back to Daryl’s bedroom. Rick toed off his boots and put the dry towel on the foot of the bed, and the wet ones on the nightstand near a bottle of water. Rick moved around and saw that  Daryl hadn’t really moved, but was staring blankly at the marks on his arm, still slouched on the floor against the edge of the bed.

“Come on.” Rick held out his hands and helped heave Daryl to his feet. Daryl seemed completely malleable; moving where Rick put him. Rick helped him sit, then kneeled to unlace and take off Daryl’s boots and socks. He put them carefully by the night stand so he wouldn’t trip over them. He then had Daryl stand up, and unbuttoned his pants. His shirt was still off, so Rick left him there in his boxer briefs. They’d once been blue, but had faded to a grungy-looking blue-grey with so many repeated washings. Rick pulled back the blanket and more or less shifted Daryl until he lay down in the bed. Rick nudged his hip until Daryl scootched closer to the middle, and Rick sat down. He took one of the wet cloths and cleaned Daryl’s face and neck, then folded it and cleaned his own, from where Daryl had cried on him.  He took the other and folded it, placing it over Daryl’s eyes, knowing that the cool temperature would feel amazing on Daryl’s tired, exhausted eyes.

Rick watched as Daryl lay there for a moment, satisfied that he had done what he could. He felt a little awkward sitting there, with neither of them talking. They were usually silent together, but their silences had never felt quite like this. Rick didn’t want to intrude, and he knew he’d stab himself in the heart before hurting Daryl again.  When he started to get up and go to the door, Rick was stopped cold by the simple, whispered, “ _No_.” Daryl reached out and blindly clutched Rick’s hip with hands that still shook, obviously trying to keep him on the bed.

“Okay.” Rick purposefully kept his own voice low, not wanting to startle Daryl in any way. He stood up and kicked off his jeans, then crossed around the end of the bed to the other side. Rick slid under the blankets as though he’d done it a hundred thousand times, and Daryl wasted no time in rolling so that his head was followed on Rick’s shoulder, his arm inching over to lay across Rick’s naked belly.  Rick managed to hide a smile as he pulled the covers up, shifting slightly so that Daryl’s larger frame was comfortable.

He stared up at the ceiling, blinking, completely at a loss of what to do now.

It had been a really long fucking day, but this? This felt like some kind of reward. Daryl didn’t say anything, and he didn’t really need to. Neither did Rick.  It was enough to lie here in the bed together, hearing each other’s heartbeat, knowing that they had a chance for tomorrow.

* * *

 

“--- thought you were dead.”

Rick blinked awake, unable to see anything in the pitch-black room. He quickly realized that Daryl was talking so low that Rick was damn sure that he wasn’t really supposed to be hearing what the other man had to say. Night-time confessions were not meant to be overheard.

They had rolled away from each other in the night, and Rick was now the little spoon, with Daryl pressed up against his back. Daryl’s hand rested lightly on his hip, and he spoke so that the soft breath from his words brushed against the back of Rick’s neck.  Rick could hear the sounds of the old house settling, and the mutter of people down the hall as someone got up to take watch, but Daryl’s words. . . Daryl’s words he had to strain to hear.

“I did. I thought he’d killed you too. They had me convinced.”

Rick shut his eyes, pained.

“The stuff they did to me- it wasn’t nuthin’ when I didn’t care. They left me with a photo of Glenn’s. . . of his. . . of how he died, and... I didn’t _care_.”

Rick felt like he’d been gutted.

Daryl’s whisper was wrecked. This is what he’d been living with? Keeping inside? Confessing that he had given up in there? And why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t he give up. . . when Rick had signed his death warrant?

He would never, _ever_ be able to even _begin_ to apologize for choosing Daryl instead of Glenn. There was nothing. No words, no actions, no amount of holding Daryl why he cried. _Nothing_ that would absolve him of the choice he’d made.

Daryl didn’t care if he lived or died, because _Rick had picked him to die._

“Dwight gave me the first hit. I wanted the second, and the third. And the ninth. Craved it.”

Rick felt sick. Shame was like bile in the back of his throat. Daryl felt guilty for. . . being forced into some sort of drug use?

If Rick wasn’t pretending to be asleep, he would have snorted at himself. He lied in every way a man could lie. He lied about being asleep. He lied about being strong. Look at Daryl- he’d been tortured for two fucking _months_ and was still here, ready to fight with his family. Rick was just the coward that made everything possible. The idiot that let his cockiness and bloodlust put everyone he cared about in danger.  

He squeezed his eyes shut.

**_‘Daryl! I choose. . . Daryl.’_ **

Rick felt like he was going to vomit.

He was responsible for everything. If they hadn’t attacked the outposts, Negan wouldn’t have retaliated by killing Glenn and Abraham. If Rick had realized that Daryl would stupidly boot him out of the truck, Daryl wouldn’t have been captured- or at least, he wouldn’t have been alone. Negan had said it- and he’d meant it.

_In case you haven’t caught on, I just slipped my dick down your throat, and you thanked me for it._

It didn’t matter that Rick had the best of intentions, of looking weak for Negan and showing strength for the people of Alexandria. They’d lost their faith in him. Hell, most of them still blamed him for Deanna’s death. They still saw the crazy man that Michonne had had to knock out, saw the man who’d let his son get shot in the fuckin’ _face_.

Daryl had fallen asleep behind him, his breathing eventually evening out into little snuffling snores. Moving slowly, Rick moved so that he was flush against Daryl’s body, stealing comfort from him when he didn’t even have the balls to apologize.

He felt like a thief.

Rick stayed awake, eyes burning with his own cowardice, desperately planning a way for them to come out on top, whole. He almost choked on the hatred he felt for himself, for the knowledge that he was responsible for all of it. But the worst part- he didn’t have the fuckin’ _courage_ to talk it out with Daryl, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to. . . to...

He stayed awake for a long, long time.

* * *

 

The tap on the door sounded as loud as a gunshot.

Rick and Daryl both sprung awake, awkwardly disentangling all their arms and legs from each other’s. In the night, Rick had flipped back over to face Daryl.

He was sweaty with sleep sweat and too much body heat, and with a startled blink, Rick remembered everything that had happened last night- Them kissing against the door, Daryl crying. . . Daryl’s whispered confession. Rick forced a smile and rolled so that he was on his back, purposefully putting space between them.

Carl had poked his head up the door, eyes carefully looking at the ceiling, as though he was afraid of what he’d see. “Um. Maggie has a message for the two of you. ‘Get some food in your bellies and get the hell back to Alexandria before that bat-swinging asshole finds another excuse to attack. I’ll meet you there around three, and we can plan then.’ Uh. She also mentioned something about ‘lazy asses’ and ‘sex noises that she didn’t need to hear’ Not for nothin, dad but I really don’t want to see anything that would produce any sort of noises. Uh, please. As a personal request?”

Daryl snorted and Rick swung out of the bed.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m up. Thanks, kid.”

Still not looking directly at each of them, Carl gave them an exaggerated thumb’s up then shut the door behind him.

Rick felt incredibly awkward sitting there, his skin cooling from Daryl’s heat.  He rubbed the back of his neck and stood up, making his silent way to the bathroom, a little desperate for space.

Rick shut the door and splashed water on his face, then pissed for what felt like an age, flushed and washed his hands. Rick caught his gaze in the mirror and frowned at himself, knowing that he was being a coward about all of this. Rick would go out there and beg forgiveness. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say, ‘sorry about that time I picked you to die instead of the man with the pregnant wife’, but he’d manage. He’d be there for Daryl, if Daryl wanted him to be. And, if after his apology, if Daryl wanted him to fuck right off, he’d do that too. Rick squared his shoulders and cleaned his teeth with some baking soda, ignoring the foaming coming from his mouth as he debated trimming his beard. Rick rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, then forced himself to stop stalling and leave the bathroom.

But when he opened the door, Daryl was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

  
A/N:   [ Enid’s gun is an actual thing ](http://www.zdnet.com/article/worlds-smallest-45-caliber-pistol/). It’s itty bitty and the mental image of her using it to save Eugene’s goofy ass fills me with joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Well here's the hurt/comfort, but since it's me I kind of slap you upside the head with a healthy heaping dose of angst. :D Additional warnings, description of panic attacks, aftermath of torture, withdrawal symptoms, a scene between R + D that might read as dubcon, mentions of past attempted rape of a minor.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Err I started this chapter in ummm. January, and cannot apologize enough for the delay. I still don't know if the pacing is right, but the next chapter doesn't quite fit, and I was afraid that if I didn't just stop fucking with it and post I never would. 
> 
> Anyway. As always, concrit welcome! 
> 
> ~Lost

**Author's Note:**

> As this is a WIP, you might want to subscribe to author or story alerts, so you don't miss anything. Or you can [ follow 1lostone on tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/) [ follow Lucife56 on tumblr](http://lucife56.tumblr.com/)!:D
> 
> Quick note on the places (cities, towns, etc) mentioned in this fic: Welp. I'm about 72% full of shit, 25% at One with Google, and 3% describing places that I've actually been. So please, oh please... take this with a grain of salt. Er. With several grains of salt. Entire oceans of salt. 
> 
> Oh, and a bunch of us Rickyl Fans have a chat where we hang out and mostly talk about dicks and/or writing. You can come say hi! Send me an ask or DM me and I would be happy to invite you!


End file.
